


You're My Whole List

by JCMorrigan



Category: Big Hero 6: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: (Carl knows Yama in this canon shhhh), (and Dibs has been out of the closet for a while in this canon shhh), Carl is biracial/Latino, Cat adoption, DIY at-home wound treatment!, Dibs/Globby gets deadnamed and it is not a good time, Dibs/Globby is trans, Dibs/Globby needs a hug, Friends to Lovers, I gave them last names, I really hate Krei I'm sorry, I think?, I'm sorry but Carl has killed people, Krei bashing, Krei is a Republican, Krei is homophobic, Krei is transphobic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Partners in Crime, Separation Angst, Slow Burn, THE AUTHOR IS DOING HER BEST, Transphobia, WHO ORDERED THE HURT/COMFORT JUICE?, Yama and Obake pass the villain torch, a few cameos from other characters as well!, admittedly i did have to explain away a few throwaway lines, and he gets lots of them!!!, and he kills someone in this fic, but don't confess until the bitter end, but only in defense of himself and those he loves, canon compliant up through The Globby Within, chronicles from pre-series up through Countdown to Catastrophe, everything goes wrong that could but they have each other's backs, fluffy happy couple in angsty environment, just because you are bad guy does not mean you are bad GUY, maybe not one hundred percent canon compliant, surprisingly lots of gore, they know they like each other by chapter 3, tragic backstories, watch this get proven canon-incompatible with something silly like Carl not having a brother, which is where most of the gore comes in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCMorrigan/pseuds/JCMorrigan
Summary: "I knew him when he was just Misdemeanor Carl!""Yeah, and you were still human."***How they met, how they became friends, how they fell for each other, and how they endured hardship after hardship together and apart until they could finally say what needed to be said.***Set to begin as a prequel to the series and then runs alongside season 1 through "Countdown to Catastrophe." This should be mostly canon-compliant as of "The Globby Within," though I had to take some liberties (such as Carl knowing Yama because I needed an intro villain) and fill in some world-building details that shall probably be debunked.





	1. Soufflé Pancakes

They say that the difference between confidence and arrogance is that confidence is rooted in belief in oneself at the expense of no other while arrogance is rooted in insecurity and a need to prove oneself better than others.

What is neither of those things is when one feels insecure about something, lets that show, doesn’t put up any pretenses by tearing down anyone else in the process, and yet goes through with it anyway.

That is the best way to describe how Dibs felt when standing outside the window of his first break-in. Already, it had taken him several minutes to figure out how to properly wear a ski mask without obscuring one or both eyes in the process. Now he was just hoping the window wasn’t locked.

He’d chosen this house completely at random, not making any judgment about its value or façade. It was in his neighborhood, so it made a convenient target with a short commute. There had to be something in there of some value, right? And he’d really always wanted to do this. It was going to be simple. Get in, grab whatever was worth money, and get back out. Simple and also fun.

Yet he was all nerves. The prevailing factor was that Dibs just never seemed to really be good at anything. Even though he hadn’t actually tried breaking and entering yet, he was certain the pattern would hold. All the same, if he let fear hold him back, he’d end up nowhere.

He lifted the window pane. It wasn’t locked. “Yes!”

Of course, Dibs had never entered a house through the window before, and hadn’t considered all of the factors at play. He was more than thin enough to slip through without any trouble – the man was practically skin on bones – but what he hadn’t accounted for was that going in headfirst meant he would then be plunging to the other side headfirst.

His natural clumsiness compounded matters.

Therefore, when he found himself half through the window and suddenly panicking about hitting his head to the point of concussion on whatever was on the other side, he slipped and pitched forward completely.

The window happened to be situated over a kitchen sink. Whoever owned this house hadn’t kept on top of dish duty that day, and their dishes and cutlery lay stacked neatly on the side of this sink. As Dibs bowled into it, he knocked over the lot, sending plates crashing to the floor in an avalanche, a sonorous shattering of glass punctuated by the tinkling of the forks and spoons dropping on top.

As Dibs righted himself on the floor inside the kitchen, readjusting his mask (it had slipped over his left eye again), his heart pounded frenetically. After all, if he knew one thing about breaking and entering, it was that you were supposed to be quiet. And he’d just made enough noise to wake the dead out of the San Fransokyo morgue and raise a zombie apocalypse.

He pressed himself into the corner of the kitchen, behind the patiently humming refrigerator. There he waited, hoping to blend into the shadows as whoever owned this house came downstairs to see what had just ruined every plate in the building.

Five minutes passed. No one came. There wasn’t even a sound to indicate anyone was moving about. By some miracle, Dibs’ spectacular entrance had gone completely unnoticed.

He gave himself another quiet “Yes!” before proceeding.

The next problem, of course, was the nature of finding valuables. Right away, he happened upon the living room, where the television was kept. That was an obvious target. Anyone would take a television. Why not Dibs? The answer was simple: because there was no way he could get it back out the window he’d used as a point of entry. He had to find something else. The living room held little else – no jewelry, no loose cash, no laptop left carelessly on a table. Dibs rifled through the drawers a bit. There was a bottle of medication. Drugs, perhaps? Something to sell? He struggled to read the label in the darkness. No, just ibuprofen. Which he was sure had some value in the drug-abuse community, but it wasn’t something he could get paid for a bottle of. Unless the major organized crime circuits in San Fransokyo suddenly developed chronic migraines and an inability to access every pharmaceutical chain in the city.

Dibs wandered about as quietly as he could, making a mental floor plan of the narrow house. There was a kitchen, which he’d come through. The living room. A storage closet that held a vacuum cleaner and some other cleaning implements. (Would anyone be interested in a black-market vacuum?) Then two sets of stairs: one going up and one going down.

Upstairs was out of the question. Dibs was convinced the owner of the house was sleeping up there, and he was too anxious to even set foot that close without fearing waking the person and coming face-to-face with the business end of a shotgun. Or a baseball bat. What did people even use to combat burglars these days? Did they just call the police now?

The obvious problem being that this person obviously kept their valuables somewhere protected, and that was most likely upstairs. In their bedroom. Where they slept. And though they were obviously a sound sleeper (sleepers? Dibs didn’t know how many people there were in this house) to have missed the dish avalanche, Dibs still didn’t trust his skill to be able to slip around someone sleeping and nab their possessions just yet.

However, there was a nonzero chance that they kept something precious in the basement…

Dibs crept down the stairs as quietly as he could until he hit a creaky step. The noise startled him so much that he stumbled. The resultant commotion yet again proved the soundness of the sleep of the homeowner. At the bottom of the steps, Dibs thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t broken his neck.

The basement was cordoned off by an old wooden door, the kind that usually led to murder rooms in horror stories. Dibs told himself over and over again that normal people didn’t have murder rooms. This wasn’t a murder room. But if it was, maybe he could get money off blackmail, or turning the killer in to the authorities! He could get images of the torture devices, show them to the police –

Explain why he was in the house in the first place. Right. That wouldn’t work.

Besides, it wasn’t a murder room.

Still, as Dibs slipped through the door, he whispered, “Please don’t be a murder room.”

He didn’t pay much mind to the position of his hand on the brass handle, or how it might have engaged any small mechanisms. The door shut behind him with a squeak and a click.

The room was pitch-dark. Dibs waited for his eyes to adjust. As they did, he could make out shapes, and his heart nearly stopped. There were machines down here. He could hear their thrums. Their outlines were varied: square, round.

He’d been right. It was a murder room. He was surrounded by devices of torment and containers for corpses or what was left of them. Hyperventilating, he reached upward, looking for a chain to turn on a light – this sort of basement was always lit by only one dim lightbulb with chain activation.

Well, he was right about the mechanism of the light, but once he got it lit up, the bulb was much brighter than expected, and what it illuminated was the true identity of the machines: a washing machine. A dryer. A water heater. Normal stuff.

Dibs let out a sigh. He really had to stop letting his imagination get creative during this sort of thing.

He gave the room a search to turn up nothing of interest. There was a load of laundry in the washer that hadn’t been transferred yet. Out of pure curiosity, Dibs pulled a single T-shirt out of the wet pile, unfolding it.

A chill shot through his legs. The shirt was very wide. Its owner was huge. Whoever lived in this house was probably capable of breaking Dibs’ spine over their knee without need of a baseball bat or a gun. He definitely wasn’t going upstairs now.

Other than that, there was nothing to be found but a spider. A big spider. Dibs stomped on it with a shriek (which he regretted, now knowing the scope of his potential opponent if this went wrong) before feeling bad on top of that about the death of the spider. It wasn’t like it was one of the poisonous types or anything. Right? He didn’t know how to tell. Maybe it was a good thing he’d killed it.

Having exhausted the parts of the house that he was actually able to explore, Dibs resolved to cut his losses and leave. He turned back to the basement door, gripped the handle –

It was locked. He’d accidentally locked it when he’d gone through to the basement level.

“Darn iiiiit!” Dibs hissed as he jiggled the handle in hopes of somehow accidentally dislodging the lock. He needed to get out of here before he was found. It was life-or-death as far as he was concerned. He braced his foot against the wall, hoping he could maybe just force the lock open if he yanked on the door hard enough. Given that his upper body strength was nothing to write home about, this plan didn’t really work. So he changed tactics, kicking the door repeatedly to see if he could break through. No, no, no, he needed to escape before –

The lock started clicking. Someone was on the other side.

Dibs recoiled, his breath hitching and his skin going cold.

The door creaked open, and the man on the other side was as large as the shirt advertised. Tall, bulky in a combination of muscle and fat, and glowering at Dibs.

“I’m…sorry?” Dibs squeaked. He cringed away, covering his eyes with an arm, waiting for the blow.

Instead, he heard a low, calm voice say, “This is the worst break-in I’ve ever seen.”

Dibs eased back into a more natural position, opening his eyes back up to look at the man who could probably kill him with a punch. “You’re right. But I didn’t actually ever get to take anything, so how about we just forget this happened and I won’t bother you ever again – “

The larger man turned around, beginning to walk up the stairs. “Come on,” he said.

Dibs was baffled. “Come on…what?”  
The man paused, firing a look back over his shoulder. “I’m gonna show you what you did wrong,” he explained.

As much as that was intended to answer a question, it really raised several more. “You’re…going to teach me how to steal your stuff?”

“Yeah,” the man insisted. “C’mon.”

Then he’d ascended back up the stairs, and Dibs had no choice but to follow.

He considered cutting and running. However, he was stopped by the fact that this man had seemingly no interest in punishing him. He was instead headed right for the front door. Perhaps to punt him out onto the street?

“Your first mistake was the window,” the large man said. “I know the window gets romanticized a lot, but it’s a whole lot easier if you just pick the lock of the door. No worrying about falling headfirst or anything.”

“So you saw the kitchen,” Dibs sighed. “Sorry.” He supposed it must seem hypocritical to apologize for breaking things when he’d come to steal things, but those weren’t the things he’d meant to steal, so he still supposed some sort of apology was in order.

“’S fine,” the large man said. “I’ll get new plates. They’re not hard to come by. And yeah. I saw. Heard it, too. Thought it was somethin’ outside ‘til I heard you fall down the stairs.”

Dibs nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“You’re not gonna last a week here unless you know some stuff,” the large man went on, turning to face Dibs. “I’m guessin’ you’re new.”

“Yeah…” Dibs admitted, avoiding eye contact.

The large man returned to the door, swinging it open. “I’ve got a pretty old lock,” he explained. “My house wouldn’t have been hard to get into. Biggest reason people don’t do it is ‘cause they know I don’t got much worth takin’.”

And because you’re huge and intimidating, Dibs thought, but he knew better than to say that out loud. What he did say was “I have no idea how to pick locks.”

“You dunno how to pick locks,” the man told him, “but you’re a thief.”

“Sorry,” Dibs said without thinking.

“Don’t apologize.” The man swung the door shut. “I’ll be right back.”

He set off into the living room, and Dibs used that opportunity to get a better look at him. He was wearing thick blue pajamas that looked warm and cozy. His dark hair was short but shaggy.

Maybe I should run now, Dibs thought, but by now, he really wanted to see where this was going.

The man returned with what looked like a hairpin. Dibs had seen this in one of the drawers in the living room but thought it just an ordinary pin. “See this?” the man explained. “This is your standard lockpick. You’re gonna wanna get one of these. Now step outside.”

Dibs wasn’t sure, by this point, that he wasn’t dreaming. The man whose house he’d tried to rob first picked his own lock, talking through it, then stepped back to let Dibs try it. Dibs fumbled the first three attempts, muttering, “I don’t know if I can do this…”

“You got this,” the man told him. “You’re just new at it. Just be patient. Go a bit slower.”

The lock finally clicked open, and Dibs felt triumph surge through him as he swung the door open. “I did it!”

“And no noise.”

The man’s tone had changed slightly, and Dibs turned around to see that he was actually smiling. It wasn’t a broad smile, but it was pleasant in its subtlety. It was an honest smile.

“Why are you doing this?” Dibs asked.

“Showing you how to steal my stuff?” the man replied. “I know. Seems weird. But I’m same as you. Most of this stuff didn’t belong to me in the beginning either.”

So that’s why he wasn’t too concerned about his dishes. He was probably already planning to shoplift another set.

“I learned a lot of lessons the hard way,” the man went on. “Woulda been a lot more helpful for me if I’d had somebody to show me the ropes. Least I can do is show you enough to stop you from getting killed next time. ‘Specially since I found you locked in the basement. Couldn’t really leave that one alone.”

Dibs shuffled his feet, embarrassed. “I, uh…thanks.”

“No sweat. A lotta people here don’t believe in lookin’ out for each other, but I’ve always thought it’s important.”

Well, if this man was going to be so nice to him, Dibs felt he should at least offer a proper introduction. He tugged off his mask, revealing his face, his close-cropped blond hair. Stuffing the mask in a pant pocket, he put out his right hand. “I’m Dibs,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you…I think.”

The larger man enveloped Dibs’ hand in his own – thick, rough, warm. “Carl,” he introduced. “Most people ‘round here call me Misdemeanor Carl.”

“Why do they call you – “

“Guess.”

“Ohhhh.” Dibs nodded in understanding.

As Carl let go of his hand, Dibs asked, “Is there, uh…anything else I should know?”

“You got the time?” Carl asked.

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere else tonight,” Dibs explained. “Or tomorrow. Though I guess I have to sleep sometime.” He shrugged.

“Then let’s go.” Carl re-entered the house. “There’s a lot to learn here.”

As Dibs followed eagerly, Carl explained, “I’m guessin’ you didn’t take the TV ‘cause you couldn’t get it back out through the window without breakin’ it. Now that you got the door unlocked, that’s not a problem anymore. I know it’s cliché, but go for the TV if you can find it. It’s a sure thing, and it’s gonna be easy to find. You know how to get rid of serial numbers?”

“What numbers?”

“Numbers they put on TVs to figure out if they’re stolen. You’re gonna have to have a plan to get rid of it before you sell it so they can’t trace it back to you.”

“But then won’t they get suspicious of the TV without a number?” Dibs asked.

“You think you’re the only person sellin’ ‘em without it?” Carl replied.

“Good point.”

“Now, mine’s already gone, for what should be obvious reasons. But I’m gonna show you where it would be anyway and what you’d do.”

After walking Dibs through that particular set of information, Carl gestured to the television. “Now pick it up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Dibs shook his head fervently. “I can’t just take your TV! Not after you were so nice to me!”

“You were gonna take it anyway,” Carl reminded him, “and I was gonna be just as nice of a person if you hadn’t met me. Also, you know I can just get another one easy. Just take it. You need it way more than I do.”

“Are…you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Dibs nodded. “Okay.”

He disconnected the appliance, acutely aware of the fact that its owner was literally watching him steal it. He then staggered under its weight. That was another thing he hadn’t had the foresight to consider: televisions were heavy things. He clutched it tightly, so focused on not dropping and shattering it that by the time he realized his center of gravity had been tipped a bit too far back, it was too late: he was falling and in for a hard landing.

Until, that is, he felt a pair of large, strong hands grip his shoulders, keeping him from taking the tumble. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dibs replied, somewhat flustered. “This is just a bit heavier than I expected.”

“I’ll help you carry it out,” Carl volunteered. “Though you gotta have a plan when you do this alone. It’s not common procedure, but you could probably get some kinda wagon or cart, so long as it’s small and quiet and you don’t take it up or down any stairs.”

Carl took the device from Dibs, effortlessly carrying it out to the front step to set it aside to pick up later. “There’s more,” he informed the blond.

“Okay,” Dibs told him. “Show me.”

So he got the full curriculum: how to sneak around the upper level without making noise, where to look for wallets and hidden valuables, what could be sold that you wouldn’t expect. By the time Carl dropped him off at the front step again, he felt a whole lot smarter than he had been – and, of course, acutely more aware of how dumb he’d been before.

“Thanks for all this,” Dibs said sheepishly. “I’m gonna do better next time.”

Carl regarded him silently for a moment before saying, “Not gonna lie, Dibs. I’m worried about ya.”

Dibs sighed. “I know. I’m just – I mess up everything, and I can’t – “

“Maybe we shouldn’t leave this as a one-time thing,” Carl suggested. “When you gonna get up tomorrow?”

This surprised Dibs. More unexpectedly, it surprised Carl, who was not even sure why he’d gone there. Maybe it was because he really did think this man was pathetic – though that implied he held him in disregard, which wasn’t the case. Maybe it was because he saw a younger Carl in him to some degree, though certainly more…awkward and emotional.

Or maybe it was because Carl didn’t have many friends in this part of town, and a small part of him hoped that maybe someone he could actually talk to had just fallen into his window and locked himself in his basement.

“Probably noon,” Dibs answered.

“You know Joe’s?”

“Yeah! Great place.”

“Wanna meet me there around twelve-thirty?” Carl asked. “We’ll get breakfast and talk over where we go from here.”

The truth was, Dibs didn’t have many friends here either. He didn’t have any friends, in fact. So he felt much the same as Carl: if they seemed to get along, why not see how much mileage to get from it?

There was just one problem. “I, uh…I’m kinda short on cash right now, and – “

“My treat. And I won’t expect anything back.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Dibs said softly.

Now Carl gave just the opening chord of a laugh. “You might be the most polite thug I’ve ever met.”

I’m not the one who just gave a newer thief a how-to and handed over his television, Dibs thought. “Okay. I’ll meet you there tomorrow.”

“Good. Lookin’ forward to it.”

How to end this conversation? Where to possibly go from here? What came out of Dibs’ mouth was “Sweet dreams,” which he immediately cringed visibly over.

Carl’s smile didn’t waver. “You too, Dibs.”

Then he shut the door, leaving Dibs outside in the night.

“This HAS to be a dream,” Dibs mused. Then he turned his attention to the television by the side of the step.

Which, as it turned out, he still couldn’t lift, so he left it sitting there, thinking it was better this way anyway so Carl wouldn’t have to give it up to someone he just met.

* * *

Of course, Dibs accidentally set his alarm clock for 12 a.m. instead of 12 p.m., so when he rolled over, lazily blinked his eyes open, and saw the numbers “1:00” displayed on the small clock, panic shot through him.

“Darn iiiiiiit!” He scrambled through his disheveled apartment as quickly as he could to make himself presentable – teeth brushed, hair brushed, sweater on, and go. No, wait. Pants. Was he wearing pants? No, he was not. Pants were found, and then – keys? Not those either. That would’ve been bad. Keys in pants pocket and now go.

Dibs sprinted down the block toward the diner, muttering, “Please still be there, please still be there, please still be there – “

“LOOK OUT!” A passerby on the street watched him nearly run right into the path of an incoming trolley, which would’ve been a pretty horrible way to go if the kind stranger hadn’t pulled him back by the shirt collar. He gave them a brief “Thanks!” before changing course and running right into a puddle of water that sprayed up over his clothes and left flecks of mud.

“Darn it…”

At last, he burst through the door of the diner, eyes searching about. He had to be running an hour late by now. No way Carl had waited –

There he was, poring over the menu, dressed in a tee and jeans with a leather vest, his dark hair swept up and held back with a bandanna.

Now Dibs felt foolish. He barely knew this man, and now he’d made him wait. Perhaps this was too much trouble to go through for a potential friend who might not even turn out to like him. People never did, in the end, when they found out how loud and accident-prone he was. How unable he was to truly take things seriously, though he tried to the best of his ability.

Dibs considered just turning around and leaving. Carl could find a better friend than him, after all.

He was stopped when Carl spotted him out of the corner of his eye and gave him a wave, that slight, honest smile returning. Well, now Dibs couldn’t get away with bailing. So he made his way over to the booth, sliding into the seat across from Carl.

“Sorry I’m so late,” Dibs sighed.

“It’s fine,” Carl reassured him, setting down the menu. “I figured you probably set your alarm for the wrong time or took a wrong turn. No offense, but you seem like the type.”

“It was the alarm,” Dibs moaned, “and I almost got myself killed by a trolley.”

“Wait, what?” Carl looked more closely at him, at the muddy dampness on his sweater. “You okay? You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“No, just…a mud puddle and trying to get here as fast as I could,” Dibs told him.

“Well, don’t sweat it,” Carl told him. “’Sides, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I forgot you couldn’t carry the TV all the way back to your place. I have it back at mine. We can pick it up to move together later.”

“No…keep it,” Dibs pleaded, hands up. “Seriously. You’re paying for my food today, and if I take it, then I’m gonna feel guilty forever.”

“Dibs…” Carl sighed. “You can’t make it as a criminal if you have a guilt problem.”

“It’s not like that, okay?” Dibs argued. “I don’t get guilty over taking things from people who AREN’T my friends. My problem is when I take things from people who ARE my friends!”

The surprised expression on Carl’s face clued him in to the idea that maybe he’d taken this a little too fast. “Well…I was kinda hoping we could be friends, anyway,” Dibs said sheepishly. “Except you and I don’t really know each other that well, so – “

Carl shrugged. “Y’know what? Why not? It’s a little soon, but I think the shoe fits.”

“So…we’re friends?”

“Yeah. We’re friends.”

They both felt a sense of levity at that.

“I don’t have any friends,” Dibs suddenly blurted. “You’re my only one.”

Carl did wonder if that meant there was a side to the slender thief he would be loath to discover. Did he lose friends because there was something wrong with him? But he still deserved an honest chance. You really never knew until you tried. “That’s rough,” he sympathized.

“And I know why,” Dibs went on. “I’m, uh…I’m kind of a loser.” He gestured to his mud-spattered sweater.

“You’re a complete and total loser,” Carl agreed mischievously. “But I think I like that.” He rubbed the back of his own neck; his smile fading. “…To tell the truth, I don’t got a lot of friends either.”

“WHY NOT?” Dibs cried so loudly that some of the other patrons of the diner flinched and looked at him curiously. “You’re so nice! How do people not just automatically like you?”

“It’s the community we’re in, remember?” Carl said in a hushed tone. “The lawful types, they don’t appreciate me disturbing the peace. And the other so-called bad guys…they think I’m too soft.” He allowed himself a smile as he self-deprecated: “Prob’ly ‘cause I am.”

“Awww, no,” Dibs said sympathetically. “I mean, sure, you’re kinda heavyset, sure, but everyone’s different. It doesn’t look BAD – “

Carl had to hide a chuckle behind a hand. “Not like that, Dibs. Trust me. I got over all my body image issues in the seventh grade. I like how I look. No, it’s more like soft in the metaphorical sense. You said I was nice. Dunno if I can really say I’m that great of a person, but the guys on my level say I’m nice, too, and that’s the problem. Guys in our neck of the woods ain’t s’posed to be nice.”

“Then why are you?” Dibs asked. “No, seriously. It’s just…weird that you helped me out instead of, y’know…beating me to death.”

Carl considered his answer. He didn’t really want to divulge anything hefty about his past just yet, not to this man he’d just met. So he settled on “Growin’ up, I learned pretty quick that there’s strength in numbers. You get through life easier together than apart.”

“Well, am I ever glad to hear that,” Dibs said with a quite wide, almost goofy smile that almost set Carl off laughing again. “I could use some morally bereft company.”

“So, no offense,” Carl turned it around, “but how’d a guy like you end up breakin’ and entering for profit? You don’t really fit the stereotype. Which ain’t a bad thing. Stereotypes do more harm than good. Breakin’ the mold is refreshing. But I am curious.”

“I dunno,” Dibs answered. “Like I said, I’m a loser. I’m not…good at anything. I BARELY passed high school, and I never felt like anything there made sense. Not writing, not math, not sports, not art…” He sighed. “Diagnosed with third-grade reading level, paid my classmate to do my trig homework, sprained my ankle, and set the kiln on fire trying to make a clay pot. In that order. The only thing that ever made sense was thrillseeking.” His eyes lit up. “The first time I ever snuck a candy bar out of the store without paying for it, I felt SUCH a rush! So then I did a little graffiti, and I pickpocketed out of some overfull backpacks, and I dunno, it just felt…right. Not that I wanted to REALLY hurt people, but is it so bad to inconvenience them if it means I score something cool?”

He was incredibly animated now, punctuating all of his words with gestures. Carl was incredibly endeared. How could people not like this man? His energy was infectious and drew him in. He felt almost dull in comparison.

Whereas Dibs felt he was too loud next to Carl’s calm, quiet, and reassuring composure. Still he went on: “So then I moved on to SFIT – “

Carl regarded him with a look of disbelief.

“What?” Dibs folded his arms. “You don’t believe I could hack it at SFIT?”

Carl raised an eyebrow.

“…I was a janitor,” Dibs sighed. “I never got a post-secondary education. All I got was people tracking biohazards on the floor right after I JUST mopped! I knew something had to change. I was NOT going to make the rest of my life scrubbing out the cages in the zoology lab.”

“Understandable,” Carl said with a nod.

“But you know what they say,” Dibs went on with a beam. “Be gay, do crime! So I decided that’s what I was going to – “ His eyes went wide. “DARN IT!”

“What?” Carl asked.

Dibs’ face was hidden in his hands, elbows on the table. “This was too early to say that,” he groaned. “That I’m gay, I mean. I don’t know if you’re a homophobe or not, and now you’re probably wondering if I’m attracted to you and just trying to take advantage of you or – “

“Dibs.”

The serious, sharp tone got Dibs to quiet down, shifting his fingers to peek one eye at Carl.

“It’s okay,” Carl told him. “I get it. I’m bi.”

“…You are?”

“Yeah. And I also know the value of a platonic friendship. Being scared of your intentions is equivalent to thinking men and women can’t be friends. Also, I wouldn’t mind if you did – “

“I don’t,” Dibs said hurriedly. “You?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Dibs said, sitting up in his seat and lowering his hands. “Good.” A sigh. “What really happens is I always just get hopeless crushes on the handsome, popular, smart guys, and then they turn out to be bullies who laugh at me!”

“You just ain’t found the right kind of guys yet,” Carl told him. “You’re somethin’ special, and I still mean that in the platonic way. I think people might get overwhelmed by how strongly you show your emotions and get enthused. But that’s gonna work in your favor one day. There’s a guy out there who’s gonna love it.”

“Carl!” Dibs said in a quavering voice, utterly flabbergasted. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

Carl scowled at that. “Then I hope I never meet anyone you used to know before me, ‘cause that’s a low bar.”

A waiter approached. “Sorry about the wait,” he said. “Have you decided?”

“Yeah,” Carl told him. “I’ll have the miso.” He looked over to Dibs. “You?”

Dibs bit his lip. Then, softly: “I don’t wanna get anything too expensiiiiive…”

“I can foot it.” Carl winked. “Trust me. I’m a big name in the field.”

“TWO PLATTERS OF SOUFFLE PANCAKES,” Dibs blurted out.

Carl flinched. Not because of the expense – he could handle that – but because he couldn’t conceive of anyone being able to consume two five-stacks of soufflé pancakes, let alone this twig of a man.

“Two?” the waiter repeated.

“Two, please!” Dibs confirmed.

The waiter scribbled it down, then headed to the kitchen.

“So,” Dibs continued once he’d left, “are you…y’know…seeing anyone?”

“Nah,” Carl replied. “Got a couple dating site profiles up, but no big if I don’t get a match.”

“Well, good luck!” Dibs flashed him two thumbs up. “I hope you get some!”

“Thanks,” Carl replied honestly.

“So, uh…how’d you end up in the crime business?” Dibs asked. “You don’t really seem like the type for the Bad Neighborhood either.”

“Always hated that name,” Carl muttered.

“Why?” Dibs asked.

“Usually, it comes with ethnic connotations,” Carl answered, “and it has more to do with what the people who live there look like than what they do. Now, our neck of the woods has a lot of bad apples, but a lot of that’s socioeconomic. Trust me, the rest of this city ain’t too clean either.”

It was for the first time that Dibs found himself really examining Carl’s face and noticing how he was slightly darker than Dibs. He wasn’t sure if it was a tan or a signifier of nonwhite heritage. Latino, perhaps? But Dibs knew way better than to ask at this stage of the game. That was the one thing he wasn’t going to be socially oblivious enough to blurt out that day.

“But to answer your question,” Carl went on, “I can’t…really answer your question.” His eyes drifted downward, to the tabletop. “I’ve got a past. It ain’t a good past. Not really first-friendship hangout discussion material. I’ve done a lot of things I regret.”

Dibs shuddered. Maybe he’d been too quick to assume that Carl was a gentle giant. “When you say ‘things you regret’…”

Carl’s head snapped upward; he knew exactly what Dibs was worried about. Softly enough not to be heard, he said, “I’ve done more stuff than just misdemeanors. The nickname just comes from what I’ve been convicted of. I do a lot of self-serving stuff. The thing is, you and I are alike in a way. I have a bar for things I won’t do. I don’t want people seriously hurt. I don’t violate people’s consent, I don’t physically harm innocents, and no matter what, I NEVER hurt kids. But sometimes, you get in a situation where it’s kill or be killed. Or kill or watch family get killed. I’ve got blood on my hands. Wish I didn’t, but it’s there. But only when I thought it needed to be done.”

Dibs regarded him with a mixture of fear and respect.

“I get it if that’s the deal-breaker,” Carl went on.

“No,” Dibs replied gingerly. “Not necessarily. But…I just…I wanna make sure you’ll…you know…that I…”

“I ain’t never gonna hurt you,” Carl said firmly. “Starting right now. You’re safe. Always. Even if you scare me. We’re friends now, so…I’m always gonna give you a chance, even if it looks iffy. And I ain’t gonna hurt you. ‘Specially ‘cause I trust you never to hurt me.”

That last sentence was not a demand nor a threat. It was simply a statement, and it was sincere. Dibs knew that. “I promise I won’t,” he said softly but enthusiastically. “I would NEVER hurt you. …Is THAT too weird for our first hangout?”  
“I said it first, so if it is, it’s on me.”

Dibs shrugged. “Eh, might as well.”

Plates were brought and set down. The fluffy soufflé pancakes were stacked cartoonishly high, and Dibs began strategizing how best to tear into the stacks after drizzling far too much syrup – maple and blueberry both – on them. Then he tore into them ravenously, and Carl was momentarily distracted, miso dripping from his spoon, as he watched an inordinate amount of pancake disappear into Dibs’ mouth within a short amount of time.

“I love these,” he said with bright enthusiasm. Then, a look to Carl; “What?”

“That is way too many pancakes.”

“Hey!” Dibs pouted. “I don’t judge the fact that you’re eating way too…not enough soup!”

“…Point.” It wasn’t the same at all, but Carl knew better than to get into this argument.

“You like these?” Dibs asked.

“Sometimes,” Carl replied. “I tend to save sweets more for special occasions.”

“Well, you, my friend, are missing out.” Dibs resumed eating, now adding splashes of syrup to the stains on his shirt.

“So,” Carl said between miso bites, “where we go from here.”

“Yeah,” Dibs replied around a full mouth. “What’s next?”

“Depends on what you know and what you don’t.”

“Assume I don’t know anything,” Dibs told him.

“Then we’ve got a lot to go over,” Carl replied. “If you’re gonna hack it out here, you gotta know things. How to lie without tells. How to exploit loopholes for fraud. And you’re gonna have to learn how to fight. Or at least how to escape. It ain’t easy. This line of work, it’s dangerous. So you gotta be sure it’s what you want.”

“It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense,” Dibs asserted.

Carl nodded. “Then I want to meet up with you at least once a week.”

“I’m, uh…I’m free every day, really. Like I said…heh…no friends. And I quit the janitor gig right before I broke all of your dishes. So just let me know. Here.” Dibs withdrew his phone from his pocket. “Tell me your number, and I’ll text you mine.”

Carl obliged, and soon received the buzz that indicated Dibs’ number had arrived in his own device. He saved it to contacts.

“You can just call me whenever,” Dibs asserted, “and I’ll be over. …Wow, THAT didn’t sound creepy at all.”

“No, I get it. …You free today? I’m free today.”

“Yeah!” Dibs perked up. “You can show me whatever you want!”

“Then let’s make a day out of it,” Carl told him. “I’ll buy you lunch, too.”

“Only if you keep your own TV!”

“Deal.”

After Dibs cleared his plates of seemingly more pancakes than should fit in a human stomach, Carl paid off the bill, and the pair exited the diner.

“Thought maybe we’d go around the city to start,” Carl began. “Gotta show you places that are safe and places that aren’t. And it’s never as simple as the ‘Good Neighborhood’ and the ‘Bad Neighborhood.’ Some of the buildings downtown are bases of operation for the mob. Some of ‘em…I dunno how else to say it except ‘supervillain lair.’ You get some weird types in this town.”

“Are you talking about the steam guy?” Dibs asked. “I keep hearing about the steam guy.”

“Yeah. I got all von Steamer’s hideouts down pat. Gonna show you where not to step in the sewers if you don’t want him breathin’ down your neck. Nobody’s heard from Supersonic Sue in a while, but I figure I better show you her old stomping grounds too in case.” Then a playful grin: “You might also wanna know which KreiTech subsidiaries completely deserve to be robbed and vandalized.”

“You hate Krei too?” Dibs spat. “I can’t STAND that guy! He’s just so…he gets everything he wants, and he’s RUDE! Oh, don’t try and tell me that he’s polite in all his public appearances, because I can tell it’s fake!”

“Nobody needs a billion dollars,” Carl asserted. “Ever. It’s more than anybody could even spend in a lifetime. He ain’t gonna miss it. If he didn’t want us to put a dent in it, well, maybe he should’ve put it toward cleaning up the conditions in the ‘Bad Neighborhoods.’ By which I mean pavin’ roads and fixin’ pipes, not gentrifying.”

“How are you so smart about this stuff?” Dibs asked. “I don’t even know what the word ‘gentrifying’ means.”

“Everyone’s smart in their own way,” Carl told him. “Trust me. There are days I can’t tell a dog from a cat. No, I mean that literally. Also, it means renovating a poor district so it appeals more to the middle- or upper-class, which generally involves manipulating it so more white people move in and more people who aren’t white move out.”

“Ohhhhhh.”

A sudden thought occurred to Carl. “I’m not, by the way. ‘Case you were wondering. Mom was; Dad wasn’t. He was first-gen; moved here from Santiavideo. But when I talk about white people, I, uh, I don’t mean you – “

“No, I get it,” Dibs said calmly. So his guess had been right. “Trust me, I am NOT going to be offended. We’re kinda terrible! But, uh, if I accidentally say something racist, could you call me out? I promise I would never mean it, but – “

“Sure thing. Thanks, by the way.”

Dibs nodded. “So…this sounds like a lot of walking.”

“It could be,” Carl affirmed. “We could hit up a lot of places today, but not everything. Might be fun just to take it slow. Or I did have another idea, but I’m not sure you’ll like it, so feel free to say no.”

“Well…try me.”

“C’mon.”

Carl led Dibs to the far end of the parking lot, where a shining black motorcycle rested in the sunlight.

“I don’t get it,” Dibs admitted. “There’s nothing in this lot but a – “

Then he got it.

“Oh.”

“Y’know, funny story,” Carl admitted. “I kinda wanted a pink one, but that’s not really an easy color to come by in the biker market. Just somethin’ a little more colorful to brighten up the day and let people know how comfortable I am with my masculinity. Anyway, if you ain’t comfortable with this, we’ll walk. I just thought it’d make for a quicker tour.”

“Um…” Dibs regarded the motorcycle rather nervously. “See, I’m kinda conflicted here, because on one hand, I have never ridden on one of these before, and it looks INCREDIBLY terrifying. On the other hand, the part of me that thought doing crime for the rest of my life was the most fitting career choice is begging me to see if it feels as exhilarating as it sounds.” He mulled it over. “Wait. You only have one helmet. Okay, I’m not doing this.”

“You can wear it,” Carl suggested. “I ride without it all the time. Not even sure why I decided to put it on today. Maybe fate. Maybe I knew you were gonna need it.”

“Are you sure? Also, my head’s…um…longer than yours?”

“Helmets ain’t tailored that way,” Carl told him. “Watch.”

He lifted the jet-black helmet off the handlebars of the motorcycle and gently settled it over Dibs’ head, where it did actually fit rather perfectly. “Hey!” Dibs chirped. “Just wearing this makes me feel cooler already!”

“So…you in?”

“Yeah!”

“Thought I’d start by showin’ ya where not to go if you don’t wanna run into Yama.”

“Who’s Yama?”

The expression Carl gave Dibs was almost frightening, as Carl himself looked visibly frightened. “Dibs,” he said softly, “you don’t know who Yama is?”

“Um…should I?”

“He runs most of the crime in this city,” Carl told him. “Sometimes goes by ‘Little’ Yama. He dominates the bot-fighting circuit and a bunch of other under-the-table operations. He’s got a network of a hundred at least, and that ain’t countin’ bots. The guy’s dangerous. Dibs – “

He suddenly gripped Dibs’ upper arms with ferocity, looking him directly and intensely in the eye through the visor of the helmet. “I need you to promise me somethin’,” he said sternly, his eyes piercing into Dibs’. “Most important promise of ‘em all. More important than not hurtin’ me. You gotta promise me you WON’T ever approach Yama of your own free will. You sign a contract with him, he has your life.”

“Okay,” Dibs said nervously, voice cracking. “I won’t. Did you do that? Is that how you know?”

Carl’s fingers relaxed on Dibs’ arms. “That’s part of the story I don’t really like tellin’,” he muttered, barely audible. “Long story short, I’m safe now. But I ain’t watchin’ you go through that.”

“Got it,” Dibs said with a thumbs-up.

“Good.” Carl’s expression softened considerably, and he swung one leg over the parked bike, scooting up forward on the seat. “Now get on and hold on.”

“Wait a minute,” Dibs broke in. “I just realized – is this gonna be awkward?”

Carl flashed him a smile. “Not for me if it ain’t for you. Secure in my masculinity, remember? And we’re pals.”

“All right, then, buddy!” Dibs eagerly clambered over the motorcycle, spindly legs draping to either side of the machine. All the same, he hesitated just a moment before reaching out and tentatively wrapping his arms around Carl from behind.

He wasn’t attracted to him, not in the physical or romantic sense, but still, this felt a certain kind of intimate. He was counting on Carl to keep this potentially hazardous vehicle from crashing and harming the both of them. This relied on his keeping a good grip – so he tightened his embrace a little, hoping Carl wouldn’t take it the wrong way (he didn’t). His chest was pressed up against Carl’s back, and it rather felt, strangely, like they were simply meant to fit. Being that Dibs was a good deal shorter, he ended up pivoting his helmeted head to the side to keep that position, effectively leaning his head against Carl as well, and really, if any observing passersby didn’t know the nature of their relationship, they might make a lot of assumptions from this. But in as platonic of a way as possible, Dibs really liked this. It made him wonder what it would be like to receive a hug from the man. Probably fantastic, given that he was huge yet gentle. Whereas Dibs himself was probably too wiry to give off anything comfortable.

That last was an incorrect assumption; Carl found himself quite happy with the fact that Dibs trusted him enough to keep such a grip on him, and it really was a pleasant sensation to feel his embrace – again, in as platonic of a way as possible; it was a mark of their friendship and how long it could last, these two opposites-yet-congruents who seemed to have been destined to find each other in their respective seas of solitude. “Oh, one more thing!” Carl called playfully over his shoulder. “This thing’s gonna get loud when I rev it up, so if it gets too fast or you gotta stop for any reason, I might not be able to hear you. You gotta do something I’ll feel, like tap my shoulder. Got that?”

“Got it!” Dibs chirped.

The motorcycle roared to life, and Dibs’ stomach turned in a way that was both blissful and nauseating as it purred out of the parking lot and accelerated to blinding speed on the roadway. The colors of the city, a rainbow of old and new, rushed past Dibs’ vision in a gorgeous prismatic spectrum. His breath was ripped from him by the rush of the speed, the beauty of what everything looked like when you were going so fast without any metal shell around you. He was quite glad he’d agreed to the motorcycle. And Carl was a proficient biker, never taking any unneeded risk as he drove fluidly through downtown traffic.

In a way, this was what making a new friend was like, boiled down to its essence, Dibs thought. You had to trust, and it would move quickly and frighteningly, but the end result was thrilling.


	2. Check Fraud

Carl was awoken in the early hours by the buzzing of the phone on his nightstand. He glanced at the clock; he hadn’t intended to rise for another three hours. Out of curiosity, he sluggishly transferred to a sitting position, dragging the phone over. His free hand rubbed his bleary eyes, brushed back his loose strands of dark hair.

He’d received a text in the form of a photograph of a sunrise against the San Fransokyo skyline, only a few minutes old, judging from the time. The colors of the clouds melded together gorgeously, pinks and blues surrounding a luminous disc.

Soon after came a message in words: “woke up w/insomnia and saw this out window. so awesome i went up on roof to take this!!! thought you’d like???”

Only now did Carl see who it was from. And he smiled.

He sent a text back to Dibs: “Nice.”

After a brief moment, a new text came through: “also almost fell off roof trying to take this :(“

“Less nice.” Carl replied.

He thought it over some, then chanced another text: “You free today?”

“wanna catch up on sleep but in the afternoon yes”  
Carl could use a few more hours of shut-eye himself. “Cool. You ever taken someone’s purse before?”

The responses came quickly: “NO” then “I WANT TO” then “SHOW ME” then “PLEASE????”

Carl caught himself almost laughing again. “Meet at my place 1:30?”

“im there!!!!!!! wont miss my alarm this time!!!!!! promise!!!!!!”

Carl had forgotten how nice it was to have someone to talk to about small things like sunrises. Someone who would think of him when seeing something interesting, and decide to share. His heart felt renewed, in a way. He had a real friend. That was a nice note to go back to sleep on.

* * *

Carl waited in the alley, leaned up against the wall. He’d imparted all the wisdom he could. Now all he could do was hope his protégé could fly solo.

Dibs came skidding around the corner, breathless, eyes wide and sparkling. “Carl,” he gasped, “I DID IT!”

He hoisted high a violet purse studded with glittering sequins.

It would’ve been more impressive if this weren’t his fifth attempt.

“I stand by what I said last time,” Carl chuckled. “You’re a lousy thief. I had a feeling you’d get it in the end, though.” His face turned solemn. “Now the trick is to spend it quick, before she wises up and cancels the credit card.”

“And I know EXACTLY where to go,” Dibs insisted. “Wait. Hang on. With my luck, there won’t actually be a wallet in this purse.”

To his pleasant surprise, there was, and several credit cards, all in vibrant custom colors. “YES!” he squeaked.

“The other thing is to keep the card outta sight,” Carl warned him. “Don’t go anywhere that requires an ID or looks too hard at the card, and play it close. Keep the name turned to your hand.” He reached out, plucking the card and looking at it to confirm his suspicion. “Trust me. No one’s gonna believe you’re a ‘Barbara Joule.’”

The expression that crossed Dibs’ face next, Carl wasn’t sure how to process. It seemed altogether too relieved, too emotional, for a simple theft victory. “You have no idea how good of a thing that is,” he said softly.

Carl flicked the card at him – which he realized was a mistake when it pinged off Dibs’ forehead and ended up on the ground. Dibs quickly scrambled it up, stuffing it into the wallet, which went into the purse and closed with a snap. “Let’s go!” he urged. “I get to treat YOU today!”

“To what?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Probably something sugary, Carl thought. Well, it wouldn’t kill him. It was almost a miracle Dibs’ sugar intake hadn’t killed him at this point. “Lead on.”

As they left the alley for the sunshine of the street, Carl asked, “So, uh, what is your real name?”

Dibs bristled.

“I mean, I know it ain’t ‘Dibs,’” Carl went on. “’Less your mom hated you.”

“You underestimate my mom,” Dibs muttered. Then, louder: “I’d rather not talk about it. ‘Dibs’ is my name as far as anyone’s concerned. I have reasons. My last name is just long and hard to pronounce, and my first name…I hate it. ‘Dibs’ just fits! It’s like…when I steal things, I’m really just calling dibs. It’s my thing! My gimmick!”

“I like it,” Carl replied. “And you know what? It works as a name. I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

“Thank you.”

Carl’s guess was right: Dibs had brought them to an ice cream shop. It was a quaint little place, its old wood painted a charming light blue around its great glass window. Dibs puffed out his chest a bit; “And here’s the part where I show you my superpower.”

“You got a superpower?” Carl asked with a smirk. “Nothin’ that would help with stealin’, I take it.”

“It may not be a very practical superpower, but it’s mine,” Dibs boasted. “Watch and be amazed.”

Inside the shop, Carl didn’t pay much attention to what Dibs ordered, instead glancing around at the shop’s leather booths, framed photos of country landscapes, sole silly painting of a cow that looked like a kindergartener had made it with fingers. By the time Barbara Joule’s glimmering purple card was swiped, charging two ice cream cones to her name, Carl realized he had never specified an order.

Holding two ice cream cones in his hands – one two scoops high and one three – Dibs proclaimed, “Now let’s head out.”

On the sidewalk, Dibs handed the shorter cone – an earthy palette between its two scoops – over to Carl. “My superpower,” he said proudly. “I can tell what anyone’s favorite flavor of ice cream will be just by knowing a little bit about them, and no, that does NOT include them telling me what their favorite flavor of ice cream is.”

“Huh.” Carl observed the cone. The upper scoop was deep brown, shot through with lighter streaks. The lower was a pale beige, studded with pecans.

“Chocolate peanut butter on top and maple butter pecan on the bottom,” Dibs explained. “You just seem like a nutty guy – NO, WAIT, DARN IIIIIT! I didn’t mean – not crazy! Not silly! I mean like you give off energy of liking peanut and pecan flavors.” A sigh. “Look, out of the two of us, ONE’S nutty and it’s not you.”

“Agree to disagree,” Carl told him. “But I’m more interested in how accurate your power is. Ain’t had this stuff in a while. Let’s see what happens.”

He took a tentative taste, taking a little from each scoop at once. Then his eyes widened; he stared at the cone in disbelief. A swallow, then “Where has this been all my life?”

“YES!” Dibs cried, pumping the fist that wasn’t holding his own cone. “Still got it!”

“So what’s yours?” Carl asked.

“Oh, I don’t have a favorite,” Dibs admitted. “I’m just so addicted to this stuff, I love ALL the flavors. Especially combining them. Today, I went with one green tea, one mint chocolate chip, and one black cherry.”

Carl flinched. “That sounds like the worst-tasting thing I’ve ever heard of in my life.”

Dibs had already taken a lick that encompassed all three scoops. “Well, you’re missing out.”

They walked up the street together, finishing off their cones, discussion temporarily halted as they became occupied with the ice cream. And that was okay. After all, if they were already at the point where they could just enjoy each other’s silent company without the need for constant talk, that only proved their friendship was solid.

* * *

The television remained at Carl’s house, and Dibs simply took advantage of that by visiting often to catch various programs. As it turned out, they had similar taste – or perhaps it was just that both were too easily entertained by almost anything. Property-hunting shows drew lots of commentary from them on the quality of the real estate. Cooking shows were more Dibs’ thing than Carl’s, but it was worth it for Carl to see the look on Dibs’ face when watching a new and unique dessert being forged. They both appreciated a good comedy, and could easily get engrossed in watching action flicks into the night. Once, Dibs had put up such a protest about enjoying a particular animated film that had crossed their channel-surf that Carl had managed to tease his love of animation out of him; while Dibs worried it was childish, Carl proclaimed that you were never too old for things that brought you joy, and that just gave Dibs all the incentive he needed to attempt to hook Carl on his favorite Saturday morning animated series – a task that went over better than expected. Carl was particularly enchanted by a series about a troop of space rangers, though more for their dashing snarky blue-skinned archnemesis than anything.

It was one of the easiest things to do when not training for proper crime or going out to brunch/lunch/the time of the day Dibs had declared was “ice cream time” the way English people would declare teatime. Just collapse on the couch, find whatever looked interesting, springboard from it to talking about whatever. They touched on a wide range of subjects, though certain things were avoided. Such as anything regarding Dibs’ family, or Carl’s mysterious dark past.

One day, several months into the partnership, they happened upon a newscast and stuck with it to see through a story about an arrest of a band of thieves across town. “You think that’s gonna be me?” Dibs worried. “I’ve heard a lot of nasty things about life in jail.”

“Some of ‘em are true,” Carl affirmed.

“You’ve…done time?”

“Couple months,” Carl replied. “Got caught vandalizing a KreiTech building with stolen paint, so a twofer. Hence the nickname. No regrets, though. That was after the whole scandal that broke.”

“The donation?” Dibs asked. “To…you know…”

Carl gritted his teeth. “No way a guy like Krei doesn’t know how that party feels about guys like us,” he muttered. “But he’s gotta follow the money. The one percent sticks together.”

“He apologized,” Dibs pointed out. “He realized when his funds went to the homophobia campaign – “

“Words don’t mean nothin’,” Carl grunted. “He’s got an image to keep. So he said somethin’ he didn’t mean to get the press off his back. That was the straw that broke mine.” He grinned at the memory. “I thought I’d give him some words I DID mean. Had to lift a few colors to make it the full rainbow.”

“What did you WRITE?”

“‘Less Krei, More Gay.’”

Dibs snorted. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“That rhyme just seems beneath you.”

“I was younger.” Carl shrugged. “But I wouldn’t ever wanna see you locked up in the big house. It’s not a nice place in there. And you’re…” He trailed off.

“A weakling with no skills,” Dibs said mournfully.

“…too important to me,” Carl corrected. “I look out for mine, remember? And you’re the only one of mine I got left.” He thought it over. “But you had to know arrest was a risk when you picked this.”

“It’s the only thing that ever made SENSE, Carl. Calling dibs. I knew the risk. But every job has a risk.” Dibs paused. “Sometimes I would get afraid that working in the SFIT chemistry labs, I’d accidentally touch the wrong stuff and get mutated into some kind of monster.”

“You’ve been watchin’ too much sci-fi.”

“What if I’d gotten turned into a fish monster? Who would wanna be friends with a fish monster?”

“Scalies.”

“CARL!”

“Kiddin’,” Carl chuckled. “I’d’ve liked you anyway, though.”

“I’d probably get forced to hide my face and never turn up except for maybe one or two incidents, and no one would care.”

“Dibs. You’re not a fish monster. It’s fine.”

Dibs was silent for a while before saying, “I’d love to stick it to Krei, though.”

“I’d do it again,” Carl agreed. “Only this time, know better than to get caught.”

“…We should do something. Something about Krei. Something that hits him where it hurts. Any idea what?”

“Not yet,” Carl replied. “Can’t just come up with the perfect crime outta thin air. It takes inspiration. A little pickiness. A lotta creativity.”

“And in other news,” Bluff Dunder was saying onscreen, “to commemorate the opening of the Krei Mecha-Football Stadium, Alistair Krei is auctioning off his first laptop, complete with his autograph, with 20% of the profits to go to charity. And now, a word from Krei.”

“Thanks, Bluff,” Krei responded.

“UGGGHHHH,” Dibs groaned. “Seriously?”  
Krei was now going on and on about how fondly he remembered getting his first laptop, the finest his parents’ old money could buy, with every function possible, and how it was its use that transformed him into a “self-made man.”

“Does he even hear how this sounds?” Dibs had completely inverted on the couch out of frustration, bare feet hooked over the back and head dangling toward the floor to give him an upside-down view. “Even I hear how this sounds, and I’m not even smart! I know YOU hear how this sounds!”

Carl was oddly transfixed, watching the screen as though he’d been shown a glimpse of paradise.

“…Carl?” Dibs asked. “Earth to Misdemeanor Carl! You in there?” He righted himself, waving his hand in Carl’s face.

Carl snapped out of it…sort of. He bolted out of the room.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Dibs yelled after him.

Carl returned shortly with his laptop in hand. “Please tell me this is what I think it is,” he muttered. “Please tell me he did what I think he did.”

He’d found the site where Krei’s old computer (which, despite being vintage, still looked more advanced than Carl’s personal device) was being bid on. Images allowed would-be buyers to view it from all angles.

Dibs gagged at the sight of the bids racking up in the livestream. “People are actually BIDDING on this?”

“He did it,” Carl said in awe. “He actually did it.”

“I KNOW! Can you BELIEVE his ego?”

“NOT THAT.” Carl was frenzied now, leaving the laptop to mark his place on the couch cushion.

“I am very confused,” Dibs said as Carl returned with a pen and legal pad.

“There’s somethin’ I never told you,” Carl said.

Dibs braced himself; was this where he heard about the sordid origins of Misdemeanor Carl?

“Just a little thing,” Carl went on. “Never thought it’d be relevant. But back when I was startin’ out, my M.O. wasn’t stealing or anything else. I started out a little differently. I figured I just got too ambitious and overshot. Blew a lot of my budget on a scheme that went nowhere. It’s gatherin’ dust. But…”

He began to scrawl on the pad.

“ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME?” Dibs cried in suspense.

“Forgery,” Carl replied once he’d finished. “Plain and simple. First thing I ever taught myself wasn’t how to take a purse. It was how to copy handwriting. Got me out of a few classes back in school when I turned in some fake doctor’s notes. And from there…”

He turned the pad around.

“I ain’t never seen it before. He has no idea what he just did.”

Dibs gaped. It was a perfect replica of the Alistair Krei autograph embossed on the lid of the laptop. The blond was lost for words.

“I got it,” Carl said in disbelief. “I got his signature. …Dibs, I got his SIGNATURE. You wanted to do somethin’ to get at him? Right here.” He tapped the faux autograph.

“I…” Dibs looked at him in awe. Then, all of a sudden, he broke into giggles.

“What?” Carl asked, quite unsure where this was going.

“Does that make this…” Dibs poked the paper. “An ILLEGAL PAD?”

A moment of silence. Then Carl began heaving with silent laughter, trying his best to keep it inaudible.

“That was terrible,” he wheezed out.

“Just another one of my specialties,” Dibs boasted. “Okay, serious time.” He waved a hand over his face, melding it into a scowl. “How’re we gonna get Krei?”

“This is step one,” Carl told him. “Step two is…well, follow me.”

Down to the basement. “Careful with the door,” Carl warned. “It locks from the other side.”

“Yeah,” Dibs sighed, “that happened to me once – “ He then realized. “Heyyyyy!”

Carl snorted. “You’re too easy to make fun of, Dibs.”

People had made fun of Dibs all his life. Carl was the only one whose jabs actually sounded humorous to Dibs rather than demeaning. “There’s nothing DOWN here, though.”

“That’s what you think.”

Carl moved the water heater, and there it was: a secret door, almost blending into the wood of the wall, its handle tiny enough to be hidden by the large appliance.

“You know,” Dibs pointed out, “the first time I ever came down here, I was afraid it was going to be a murder room. If I’d known about THAT, I probably would’ve passed out right here on the floor, because there’s no WAY that wouldn’t have been a murder room.”

“It ain’t a murder room,” Carl assured him, swinging the door open. “It’s a printin’ press.”

Dibs peered inside to see an assortment of strange machines that hadn’t been touched in quite a while – printers of all sorts and a large old monitor. He made a squeak of awe and excitement.

“Could make anythin’ I wanted,” Carl asserted. “Like I said, aimed a little too high. Didn’t know how to actually counterfeit bills. An’ I never got anyone’s handwritin’ worth makin’ anythin’ else. Just played around with this stuff for fun for a while. Jazzed up my dream journal with some graphic design tricks and put it in typeface.”

“You keep a dream journal?” Dibs asked.

“It’s private,” Carl said stonily.

“Got it,” Dibs replied.

“Then I kinda gave up on the forgery thing,” Carl went on. “Wasn’t like anyone’s signature was gonna drop into my lap. …’Till tonight.”

“So what are we gonna do with it?”

Carl had entered the room, firing up the printers one by one. “Whaddaya think a rich man’s checks look like?”

“Fancy?”

“That’s a start.”

“Wait,” Dibs realized. “We’re going to be PRINTING HIS CHECKS?”

“You got it.”

“But what about the…number thingies? The ones that tell the bank which account to pull from?”

“The MICR? I know a guy who can get you those for the right amount of money,” Carl said. “Which is a small investment compared to the returns we’re gonna get. It just never made sense before when we didn’t have a signature.”

“And how are we gonna use them when we aren’t Krei?”

“Mail order,” Carl explained. “There’s an e-check system that uses smartphone photography. But I’m thinkin’ we write a bunch of ‘em for cash, too. Now, Krei, he wants to go out in public, he’s gotta keep a low profile else he’s gonna get swarmed by fans or pelted with rotten vegetables. So if a blond fella turns up at his bank wearin’ a hat, a high collar, and shades, and that guy hands over Krei’s check…you see where I’m goin’ with this.”

“Yeah, but where are we gonna find a guy who looks like that?”

“…Dibs.”

“OHHH, RIGHT!” Then, all of a sudden, his joy turned to doubt. “But if we get caught, the security tapes will have me.”

“So we don’t get caught.”

“Carl, I know we never set out to get caught, but…what if…?”

Carl looked over to Dibs, who shuffled his feet nervously, looking smaller than ever in the shadows cast by the basement bulb. Carl realized that in his burst of enthusiastic creativity, he’d utterly failed to consider what he’d been signing Dibs up for.

“…We’ll stick to mail-order,” he said softly. “Can get a lot of stuff that way. And…if you don’t want in on this…”

“No, I want in on this,” Dibs asserted, “just so long as there are no cameras involved. Save for the Pixeltron 3000 we’re going to be buying in order to temporarily take up professional photography as a hobby!” He darted into the room, hovering near Carl’s shoulder as the latter fired up the monitor. “I have SO many ideas on what we could get!”

“Make a list. ‘Cause we’re doin’ this.”

“Okay. So. First. And hear me out on this one. Popcorn popper. The kind you see at the movies or carnivals. We can have fresh, theater-quality popcorn WHENEVER WE WANT.”

“Ooh. I like the way you think.”

* * *

Within a few days, a sheet of paper ordered from a source that Carl wouldn’t divulge was running off check after check that had been created with far too many graphic-design bells and whistles. If nothing else, they sure looked expensive. Krei’s contact information was printed in the upper corner, bought off yet another shady contact – a rather substantial investment, but one that would be made up for immediately.

As Carl made out and signed his first check as Alistair Krei, the escapade began.

* * *

They didn’t move house or purchase cars. They didn’t need those sorts of lavish things. Their current homes would suit them just fine, and cars were more of a hassle than they were worth in downtown San Fransokyo when trolleys or a motorcycle would serve. They did get the popcorn popper, then a few pricey trinkets they could turn around to the black market for the cash to pay off their bills and take care of upkeep of their current property.

From there, it was all about making Krei suffer in the most amusing ways possible. Krei knew his identity had been hijacked somehow once he realized that “his” checks had been used to purchase twelve massage chairs, a disco ball, and a vintage pinball machine that was up for auction for over one million dollars due to it being the only one remaining of a twelve-model lineup.

Krei made a public outrage on the nightly news, banging his fist on a table; “When I find the person responsible for this, I’ll have them thrown in jail for LIFE! I don’t CARE what the maximum sentence is for identity theft! I’m maximizing it more!”

Watching the scene from a high-resolution plasma television screen situated across from his couch, Carl choked back a chuckle at this. “You can practically see the veins poppin’ in his head.”

Dibs, seated next to him as per usual, just made a noncommittal whine.

Carl could tell immediately something was wrong. “Hey. What’s up?”

Dibs sighed. “It’s nothing. Just…no, it’s silly. And stupid. This is fun! I LOVE that every chair in my apartment is a massage chair now!”

“Hey.” Carl laid a hand on Dibs’ shoulder. “You know there ain’t no such thing as a stupid problem. You can tell me.”

Dibs bit his lip for a good thirty seconds before saying, “I promised you I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“You think we’re gonna get caught, don’t you?”

Dibs nodded morosely.

Carl thought it over. He was confident the paper trail couldn’t be traced back…all the same, Krei was a powerful man, and quite determined at that. Even if his bluster didn’t scare Carl, he knew it would be hard for some people (e.g. Dibs) to listen to that and not internalize fear of the consequences. Though, really, the solution to that was obvious.

“Dibs,” Carl told him, “make me another promise?”

“Okay.”

Carl found himself smiling. “You ain’t gonna ask me what it is first?”

“You wouldn’t make me promise anything bad.”

That was true, and they both knew it. “If we get caught,” Carl said somberly, “I want you to act like you had nothin’ to do with it. The story is I acted alone. I’d try and deny it, but I want you to just throw me under the bus. If you talk when I don’t, then they’ll let you off easy and probably buy that you’re innocent.”

“NO!” Dibs cried out. “Carl, half of this was my idea! You bought a POPCORN POPPER because of me! I’m not gonna – “

“Dibs, listen,” Carl went on. “I’ve done time before. I can do it again. Now, I ain’t sayin’ you can’t, but I know you’re scared of it. And…well, I wouldn’t want you to get locked up on the inside. Thinkin’ about it makes me nervous. And again, that’s nothin’ to do with whether you can or can’t. It’s more like…you’re my pal, and I don’t wanna think about you sufferin’.”

“But you’re MY friend!” Dibs protested. “Why not let me take the blame for all of it?”

“’Cause the printer’s in my basement. I don’t think either of us is gonna end up in trouble, but if it happens, at least one of us is goin’. And it’s just gonna be old hat for me.”

“But…that means you and me won’t get to hang out.”

“Dibs, if we get jailed, you really think they’re gonna let us talk to each other? ‘Specially if we’re known co-conspirators. Just promise, Dibs. Promise you’ll sell me out.”

After a long pause, Dibs gave in; “Okaaaay. I promise.”

“But it ain’t gonna come to that,” Carl reassured him, only just now realizing how long his hand had been on Dibs’ shoulder. He gave it a light pat before removing the hand. “Prob’ly can’t get anything else at this point without the check bouncin’, though.”

“That’s fine,” Dibs told Carl. “I already have all the massage chairs a man could ever want.” A thoughtful pause. “Is there anything we could do to…you know…cover up the trail more?”

“I mean, if we got blackmail on Krei, we could anon it to him to get him to drop the matter,” Carl mused. “Not like we can go any further anyway. We had our run and we’re done. But blackmailin’ that kind of guy ain’t easy. He’s gotta have all his secrets under lock and key.”

* * *

“Are you SURE about this?”

“Sure as I am that the sun rises in the West, Dibs.”

“It rises in the East, Carl.”

“…Okay, good point.”

They stood outside the San Fransokyo Convention Center, each dressed in a simple pair of fluffy gloves that looked like paws and furry hoods that bore animal ears. Dibs’ furry accessories were a vibrant shade of purple while Carl’s were screamingly red.

“Remind me again EXACTLY what we’re supposed to find of value at a furry convention?” Dibs asked.

“All kinds of things,” Carl told him. “Mostly the auction art. Some of these pieces go for hundreds.”

“…Carl, they’re just pictures of cats that walk on their hind legs.”

“I’m not one to judge, Dibs. We all got our things.”

Dibs didn’t want to ask what any of Carl’s “things” might be in that case.

“Anyway,” Carl went on, “if we make off with one or two, they’ll sell in our neck of the woods for similar prices. We got furries in the underground, too, and they want the good stuff. Plus, while we’re here, we can slip into the free potluck event they’re holding this evening and have one less meal to pay for.”

“This is just gonna be so humiliating,” Dibs groaned. “What if someone we know sees me in this…this fluff stuff?”

“They call ‘em ‘fursuits,’ actually, though we ain’t wearin’ the full thing. And don’t worry about it. People’ve done weirder for a heist. I’ve done weirder for a heist.”

Another thing about Carl that Dibs didn’t necessarily need or want to know specifics of, Dibs thought to himself. Dibs took a deep breath, then sighed it out. “All right. Let’s do this.”

People dressed up as anthropomorphic animals of all sorts milled about the convention floor, chatting about this and that, haggling over crafts at booths. Dibs and Carl stuck out like sore thumbs due to their minimalistic approaches; it seemed everyone else in attendance had a full fursuit, and therefore was masked.

“This is even weirder than I thought,” Dibs hissed. “Everyone’s completely anonymous. We have no idea who could be under any of these masks.”

“Just think of it like one of those old-fashioned masked balls,” Carl told him. “Just a lot hairier.”

“Okay…I’ll give it a shot…”

They found their way to the auction alley, and Dibs had to admit at last that the artwork they’d come to lift looked almost museum-quality. He had a hard time believing this was done by independent artists who simply loved anthropomorphism (for innocent purposes or for otherwise). The animals depicted in these paintings had almost every individual hair of fur visible as they reclined on the grass beneath the moon or fished in a river. Dibs found himself particularly entranced by a painting of a cow in ballroom attire, twirling through a lavish dance floor.

“This one?” Carl asked, noticing Dibs’ lingering.

“I can’t explain it,” Dibs told him, “but…yeah. This one’s speaking to me.”

A conventiongoer in a full cow fursuit, head obscured by an intricate mask, approached the table before the dancing cow in order to write in a bid on the auction paper. Dibs’ eyes flicked over to the sheet out of curiosity, and he nearly choked on air when he saw the figure the bidder had posed. “Three THOUSAND – “

“That’s none of your business,” the cow-person replied in a huff.

“That’s just…a LOT,” Dibs said in awe. “I thought these things only went for a few hundred!”

The cow-person pointed accusatorily at him with a false hoof; “Like YOU have any right to judge me! Why don’t you just stay on your side of the fence and mind your own business, then?”

“Well, sor-ry,” Dibs huffed.

As the cow-person hurried back into the crowd to attempt to disappear, Dibs groaned, “RUDE. Though…I dunno, something about his voice sounded familiar.”

“Yeah, I was just thinkin’ the same thing,” Carl muttered. “Actually, he kinda sounded like – “

They turned to each other, wide-eyed.

“No,” Dibs said around a slack jaw. “Noooooo!”

“Okay, now I gotta know,” Carl insisted. “Come on. We gotta be quiet about this.”

They stalked the cow-person stealthily, keeping hidden in the crowd or occasionally under tables on the convention floor. Just when it seemed they’d never get the answer they were looking for, they saw their target disappear around the corner, and they used the wall to block themselves from his view as they spied.

The conventiongoer removed the cow’s head from over his own, revealing a familiar coif of golden hair. “Phew,” Alistair Krei sighed as he mopped his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Wearing this thing around all day sure works up a sweat.”

Carl quickly, discreetly brought his phone out of his pocket, aiming it at Krei at an angle where Krei wouldn’t see him unless he were paying acute attention to his surroundings.

“What are you doing?” Dibs hissed.

“Remember when you wanted to cover up with blackmail?” Carl whispered back, clicking a few pictures. “Well, we just hit the jackpot.”

* * *

The following day, Krei was delivered a manila envelope addressed to his office.

“I wonder what this is?” he mused out loud. “The sweepstakes I entered last month telling me I won even more money?”

Excitedly, he tore into the envelope – and felt his heart thudding twice as loudly as usual as its contents spilled onto his desk.

Three high-resolution photos of himself in the cow fursuit, head off, face revealed. Photos that, if they were revealed to the general public, would make a laughingstock of the Krei name.

With that, a single note in enormous typeface: “CALL OFF THE SEARCH OR ELSE.”

“No!” Krei moaned. “NOOOOOOOOOO!”

* * *

A month passed without incident.

“So what now?” Dibs asked as he and Carl sat again on the latter’s couch, passing a bowl of freshly popped popcorn between them. “You think I’m ready to fly solo?”

“I think you’re still the worst thief I know.” Carl nudged Dibs playfully, nearly upsetting the popcorn bowl in the process. “But yeah, you’re ready.”

“So what do I…do?”

“You figure out what you want bad enough to break the rules for. Then you go for it.”

“Isn’t…that what I’ve been doing?” Dibs asked.

“Yeah, but with me givin’ you guidelines,” Carl reminded him. “Now, you get to figure it out on your own.”

“Hey…yeah!” Dibs realized. “I DO! There’s just so much to pick from! I mean – “

The doorbell echoed.

“You should probably get that,” Dibs self-interrupted. “Wait. I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard anyone who isn’t me come to your door.”

“Dibs.” Carl’s voice was hard, sharp. “Leave the house. Back window’s open.”

“…What? But you said windows – “

“Make good emergency escapes,” Carl told him. “Thing is, people DON’T come to this house. That doorbell rings…nothin’ good’s on the other side.”

“Carl – “

“Go.” Carl stared Dibs down intensely. “I’ll call when the heat dies down.”

Dibs left, but not without a lot of looking back and slowing down. Carl didn’t move for the door until he was certain Dibs had made his escape (proven by the soft “Ow!” he heard coming from that direction as Dibs fell out the window). By then, the person at the door was hammering on the wood as well. The words that came from the other side specified exactly what sort of problem Carl was dealing with:

“OPEN UP, MR. CASTELLANO!”

Carl made a show of opening the door as casually as possible. A police officer stood before him, a lean, strong man with a badge that proclaimed his last name “CRUZ.”

“Officer.” Carl gave him a nod, a blank expression.

“Carl Castellano,” Officer Cruz stated.

“That’s me,” Carl confirmed.

“Also known as ‘Misdemeanor Carl,’” Cruz went on.

“Some people say that,” Carl replied. “Never told ‘em to call me that.”

“Well, you can go ahead and change that name to ‘Felony Carl,’” Cruz told him, unfolding a paper. “I have a search warrant for your property. And if I find a popcorn popper on the premises, which I think I will, you’ll be doing time for identity theft.”


	3. Doing Time

The officer who interrogated Dibs looked surprised to see him. Well, surprised that he looked the way he looked. Which he really should’ve seen coming.

“M…” She stuttered. Finally, she settled on just using the last name, no honorific; “Daczewitz?”

Dibs flinched. Yes, that was the least offensive half of his legal name, but it was still not one he was fond of. “Yeah…”

“We just have a few questions,” the officer said, trying to keep a pleasant smile on her face. She sat across the table from him in the tiny, dark room. “Right now, we have little reason to believe you were involved with Mr. Castellano’s crime spree. We just want to hear your side of the story.”

And make sure it lines up, Dibs filled in mentally. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“How long had you known Mr. Castellano before the arrest?”

“Not long,” Dibs lied. “Couple weeks?”

“Were you aware of his illegal activity?”

“Not until NOW,” Dibs said sternly. “He never even – I don’t see how he could LIE to me like that!”

He felt sick, through and through. Was this really what Carl had wanted? Or was it just something he’d felt obligated to ask of Dibs because they were friends? Maybe Carl thought he was all right with taking the fall, but he wasn’t.

“When did you first become aware of his illegal purchases?” the officer asked.

Dibs swallowed hard. No, he thought. He wasn’t going to do it. He was going to tell the truth. That it had been a joint effort, that he’d come up with half the ideas, that he’d done so much because that’s just the sort of thing friends do. That Carl was his best friend, and he wasn’t about to let the man shoulder all of the blame.

“Daczewitz,” the officer said in a tone she obviously thought sounded soothing but really sounded like she was going through the motions, “it’s all right. Mr. Castellano is denying the entire accusation. If he confessed to you, it’s not necessarily aiding and abetting. And we could use all the testimonial we can get as to whether or not he committed identity theft of Alistair Krei.”

Dibs opened his mouth to tell the truth.

And he said “He called me when he figured out you were onto him. He told me EVERYTHING. I thought I KNEW him! But he wasn’t who I thought he was at all.”

Dibs knew he was a coward. He’d always known that. And now, that fact was coming around to collect.

He wouldn’t even get a chance to apologize before the hearing.

* * *

During the trial, he had to tell the same lie all over again, meaning a second chance to take the blame, a second chance to mess it all up.

He wrung his hands, looking across the courtroom at Carl in the defendant’s seat. Carl wasn’t looking back at him. He must have gone through every possible way to fidget while waiting his turn to speak.

His anxiety was interrupted by a sentence that dropped on him like a missile:

“The judge calls Deborah Daczewitz to the witness stand.”

Dibs froze. How hadn’t he thought of that? Of course they’d use the legal name they had on file for him. For a good minute, he couldn’t move, not wanting to connect himself with a name that didn’t belong to him anymore, that never really had.

The judge began to repeat, “Will De – “

“HERE!” Dibs shot up to a standing position, really, really not wanting to hear his deadname again. “But, uh…could you…call me…not that?”

The judge flushed, realizing his faux pas. “Apologies. Proceed, Mr. Daczewitz.” He flinched, unsure if he’d gotten the honorific right.

Now Dibs could feel all eyes on him as he approached the witness stand. Eyes filled with revulsion and disapproval. Eyes he’d thought he’d gotten away from the likes of. He feared one pair of those eyes belonging to the person who mattered most.

Taking the stand, he looked to Carl first and foremost, rewarded with an expression of surprise. Then Carl mouthed the word “Daczewitz?” with disbelief.

Dibs knew that wasn’t the most stunning revelation, and he couldn’t imagine why Carl was dancing around it. (The answer: because of a suspicion at how much worse that name being said had made things, and his only thought to lighten the mood being to poke fun at the last name instead. Which, Carl realized, probably wasn’t great either.)

“Mr. Daczewitz,” the judge said. “Please describe your relationship with Mr. Castellano, and how you came to know about his criminal activity.”

“I…” Dibs looked to Carl desperately one last time.

I won’t betray you this time, his eyes said.

Then, expression dead serious, Carl mouthed the words, “Do it.”

“I first met Carl two weeks ago.” The words were slipping out, almost by accident. “I had no idea about the whole ‘Misdemeanor Carl’ thing. I dunno, I thought he was a nice guy. We went out for lunch a few times…”

Carl flashed Dibs the slightest of smiles.

That did nothing to help.

* * *

In the end, the ruling was definite: the two of them had to be separated by miles and walls. Carl would be serving jail time for years on end. Dibs was found innocent of all related charges and let back out into the world, because, really, who would suspect a loser like him of doing anything wrong?

As he trudged home, Dibs thought about how that must have factored into Carl’s plan. Carl had known this would work because Dibs was the only one who could get away with it. You took one look at Carl, his stature, his bulk, his penchant for dark colors, and automatically assumed this man must be thinking about how best to bleed you dry, financially or literally. You wouldn’t know how he showered respect on his friends (or just the one of them he had, anyway) or how he would listen to you about anything or how he was willing to take the blame for a two-man con in order to keep the other man safe.

If Carl even thought of Dibs as a man anymore.

His keys clicked into his apartment door. They hadn’t had a chance to speak after the hearing, either. Just immediate separation. Probably for the best. This was another reason people didn’t stick around Dibs long – no, not everyone was repulsed, but enough people were to make Dibs bitten and shy. Carl had never seemed like the judgmental type, and had claimed not to be on several occasions, but so did the rest of them. If he were here, this would probably be when he’d phase Dibs out of his life. Move on to find men who were thought of that way all their lives.

Dibs didn’t bother turning on the light. Or changing out of his daywear. He threw himself onto his bed, facedown, intending to just go to sleep then and there.

But not before he finally lost control and began crying. At least he’d managed not to lose it in front of the courtroom, but he couldn’t stop the tears now, and even though he was the only one here to know he was shedding them, he was still ashamed.

“I’m sorry, Carl,” he moaned through a choked throat. “I’m sorry I’m such a coward.”

* * *

They said absence made the heart grow fonder. Carl was finding out that was not only true, but missing the whole picture. Absence didn’t just increase your goodwill toward someone. Absence did so by crushing your heart completely and leaving you to sweep up the fragments, putting it back together as best you could to realize it was missing a piece, and that piece was the person who wasn’t there.

In prison, he was an island. The others didn’t approach him – he towered over many and outweighed most, and most tended to assume if you attacked him, you would reap exactly what you sowed. That being said, Carl never started any fights – though he had been observed breaking them up, inserting himself between two rabble-rousers before the situation could escalate. Once, ripping a shank out of someone’s bare hand.

He wasn’t here to make trouble. And that sometimes meant preventing trouble from happening around him. The more he saw how little the others wanted to socialize without it descending into violence, the less he wanted to interact with anyone. They called him the silent man – he spoke very little, not wasting words, only saying what he needed to.

Everyone here seemed the same. A boiling kettle of rage ready to overflow. Maybe they hadn’t all started out that way, Carl thought. Maybe those who hadn’t had his advantage of looking intimidating realized they had to scrap or die. Surely he couldn’t be the only man here with any sort of moral standard. But he knew he wasn’t about to make any breakthroughs on the others. Not his place. Not his job. Not pertinent.

As he lay alone in his cell, on the hard, flat bed with a sole pillow, his mind drifted, as it often did, back to Dibs. He really just wanted to see Dibs’ energy again, to see him gesticulate wildly while telling a story, to hear him get excited over things like fresh popcorn, to watch him fall prey to some sort of slapstick and walk it off with a “Darn it!”. To see those eyes light up with the enthusiasm they had for life, be it for better or for worse. Dibs was the sort of person you couldn’t be around without smiling. Carl couldn’t remember if he’d smiled at all since being incarcerated.

He wasn’t smiling now. He hadn’t even gotten to speak to Dibs after the deadname incident. Dibs must think Carl would hate him, or not accept him. If Carl could say one thing, just one thing to him, it would be not to worry. Maybe Carl would make some politically incorrect mistakes, but Dibs was his friend, now and forever as promised, and he wasn’t going to throw that away over gender identity. Moreover, Dibs was very much a man in Carl’s eyes regardless of anything that had come before. Eyes that were now closing as he thought harder on this – yes, he just wanted to say this and this alone, so Dibs could go about his life without that worry clinging to his back the way worries did.

It had to be a good life he was having out there. He had the savvy to work on his own now. He had the bright-eyed attitude that would allow him to appreciate what was around him. And now he didn’t have a so-called friend who’d promised they wouldn’t get caught dragging him down into schemes doomed to fail. Carl had been afraid for a moment that Dibs would break his promise, not sell him out. That everything had gone according to plan was an immense relief.

It was curfew. Carl should’ve been sleeping. He couldn’t. He rolled from one side to the other. It wasn’t the bed; he’d slept on harder surfaces before. No, a different sort of turmoil kept his mind awake. In the end, it was solved by removing the pillow from under his head (he didn’t need it; he’d slept on flatter) and tucking it under his arm as he rolled to his stomach, pretending in a moment of guilty pleasure that it was his Dibs.

Now, wait. When had he gone to thinking of him as “his” Dibs? Here he was, thinking he just wanted to imagine the company of a friend, and now that turn of phrase in his mind compounded with the yearning for physical proximity made him wonder. Was he maybe, just maybe, actually romantically attached to Dibs?

(You thought about these things when you had so much time alone.)

He couldn’t really tell, after thinking it over. There seemed a fine line between friendship and that which was considered “more.” Yes, Dibs always made him smile. Yes, he fussed over all of Dibs’ worries and felt devoted to making them clear up. Yes, Dibs was attractive in Carl’s eyes, no beating around that one. And maybe Carl was feeling a sort of quickened heartbeat considering it all.

But infatuations didn’t mean true love, or that a person was ready for commitment. Not to mention they’d already both put that on the table and taken it back off the table, and reopening the discussion would be awkward at best. Perhaps most condemningly, Carl hadn’t seen Dibs in over a month now, and he knew he’d had a lot of time to romanticize how their relationship had been.

If he did feel that sort of affection, it didn’t matter. When – not if – they reunited, it didn’t need to be brought up, not unless it persisted until proven by time.

That was a good thought. Not the part about feelings persisting. The part about reuniting with Dibs. (If Dibs still wanted to be friends after this. Carl knew he had to be prepared for the possibility that it might just be one dinner to “catch up on old times” before they went separate ways. After all, what were months of friendship compared to years apart?) No matter how he felt about him, what he feared about him, one thing was constant: Carl missed his best friend.

So he cradled the pillow a little tighter, chastely, just imagining that he had the company, silent as it was.

And soon he was asleep, his drifting mind forgetting that it was just a pillow after all.

* * *

Dibs’ existence without Carl really wasn’t that much better off.

The difference was, he did smile. He had good days. He had bad days. Things would always get him, the way they always had. On a good day, the sun would be out, there would be a cool breeze, and the donut shop would have just baked a fresh batch a minute before he walked in. On a bad day, well, he had once gone several blocks with a newspaper front page stuck to his foot because of gum he hadn’t remembered stepping in, and then somehow managed to trip over it and land with his face in even more discarded gum.

He worked alone now. Not that he was necessarily a full-fledged thief prodigy. He’d already had to pass off one attempted purse-swipe as “Sorry. I thought you were…my mom? And I was trying to…get your attention?” and when the subsequent one was successful, he’d somehow dropped the wallet right into the sewer. Darn it.

All the same, he made enough to keep himself afloat at the annoyance of several people who had to cancel their credit cards. It went to prove his theory: he was so pathetic, he was invisible. A good thing, maybe.

However, the one thing he hadn’t been able to get that he so desperately needed was a friend. And he would prefer that friend to not have to be a new one.

Was there a point in hoping for Carl’s return, waiting for it, when it was inevitable that after all those years, Carl would stop caring? Especially now knowing what he knew. Or maybe he’d come back and try to repair things, but act as if Dibs weren’t the man he was.

Yet still he carried that torch.

He left the ice cream shop one afternoon with a maple-butter-pecan/chocolate-peanut-butter combo. It was the saddest ice cream he’d ever tasted.

“I dunno,” he muttered to himself, “maybe I should put myself out there. Join some forums. Or a book club! There are criminal book clubs in this city, right? Or maybe I’ll make a dating site profile and look for a relationship! It would be about time, right?”

He sighed, still self-narrating as he walked up the sloped streets. “Who am I kidding? If I had my best friend here, I wouldn’t NEED to look for a relationship. I – “

He halted then. “…Well, that phrasing implied a few things. Wait a minute, do I like him? Do I LIKE like him?”

People were now actively watching Dibs talk to himself. Or to his ice cream cone, perhaps.

“Is that why I miss him so much?” He gestured outward with his free hand as he clutched the now-melting ice cream in the other. “Do I want him to be MORE than my friend? …Maybe? I don’t know. And if I don’t know, then I shouldn’t bring it up. Well, I can’t bring it up. He’s not here. But is this a thing? Is this seriously a thing? No. Nononononono. I can’t like him like THAT. We already agreed we didn’t like each other like that, and this would just make it weird! It’s not like I actively ADMIRE him or anything! I don’t go around thinking about how his face looks rugged in a good way or how his hair actually looks cuter when he hasn’t put it up in a bandanna yet or how nice it must feel to get a hug from him because of those big, strong arms – “

He halted in place. “Oh, well NOW I’m thinking about it. Great. Because THAT’S what I need right now.”

His feet started hitting the pavement once more, melting chocolate ice cream leaving a trail wherever he passed. “No. We are not taking this any further. Carl was – Carl IS my friend, and I…I just miss him and that’s it. And it’s probably all over anyway. And the worst part is, I’m complaining so much when I’m the one who’s out here. And he’s…in there. I know he said he’d be okay, but I…”

With a sigh, Dibs attempted to bite into the ice cream only to find it all quite melted, mashing his mouth into a semi-liquid substance. “…Darn it.”

An hour found him on his bed, swiping through his phone at all the silly selfies he’d made Carl take with him. Selfies in which Dibs made it his goal to make the most ridiculous face possible and Carl responded with expressions that were a little more subdued but still joyful. Dibs knew quite well he was only making it worse, but he already felt like he’d hit rock bottom; how much lower could he even go?

Now, on top of it all, he felt immense guilt for making it all about him when he wasn’t even the one incarcerated. What did it matter that he was lonely? At least he was free.

Swipe, swipe, swipe. He’d taken so many pictures of the two of them. They were interrupted briefly by images Carl had texted him of Krei in his fursuit, then resumed.

Wait –

Dibs sat up, swiping back to Krei. This was the man whose fault it was, in a way. Well, yes, Carl and Dibs had stolen his identity, which was illegal and immoral, but Krei had deserved it for being a jerk and sending his money toward shifty political causes, and they (probably) wouldn’t have made the forged checks if not for Krei being Krei. And it was Krei’s investigation that had caught them (him. It had only caught one).

“If only there were some way to get back at Krei for this!” Dibs moaned. “Like some way to publicly humiliate him or something!”

He leaned back in frustration.

“…WAIT.”

* * *

The hardest part was the fact that Dibs had the ammunition but no way to fire it without leaving a fingerprint. IP addresses could be traced. Even aliases could be drawn back to him. He wanted to just leave the fursuit photos on every social media avenue worth sharing, but then he really would end up tracked down and implicated in the crime.

And as much as he felt guilty for letting Carl get locked up alone, he had a very strong instinct that if he went and got himself locked up for something else, that wouldn’t be at all what Carl would have wanted.

Therefore, Dibs resorted to networking. Just because he only had one friend in the criminal underground didn’t mean he didn’t have connections.

“Wait,” one such connection said, almost laughing. “You’re Misdemeanor Carl’s little sidekick, aren’t you?”

“Excuse you!” Dibs folded his arms. “I am my own thief, thank you very much! And I believe I asked you a question! How do I get something out in the public sphere without it ever getting traced back to me or framing anyone innocent as a patsy?”

“You’re really not gonna get far in this line of work if you’re worried about patsies.”

“That’s NOT my line of work! I’m a THIEF! Just answer the question!”

“There’s a way,” the man assured him. “But you’re not gonna like it.”

“Tell me,” Dibs seethed. “I NEED to get revenge on someone.”

“There’s one crime syndicate large and anonymous enough to pull off a blackmail scheme like that,” the man went on. “If you really don’t want anything out of it but revenge, because they’ll take the profits.”

“All I want is to humiliate a rich man on social media worldwide,” Dibs hissed.

The man nodded. “Then you wanna talk to Yama.”

Yama. The man Dibs had actively promised Carl he’d stay away from. Well, did a promise mean much if the person it was made to wasn’t coming back for a long, long time? The idea of the danger suddenly didn’t scare Dibs as much as it usually would have. After all, he’d managed to come this far okay, hadn’t he?

And he needed the photos of Krei in a cow suit to hit the Internet. It was the least he could do to repay the robbery of his best friend.

Dibs’ brow furrowed. “Where can I find him?”

* * *

Generally, when someone has the nickname “Little” in front of their name, you can assume it’s a hilarious misnomer and that person is actually quite large (unless that person’s friends just have no sense of humor). Yet Dibs wasn’t exactly prepared for meeting Yama face-to-face.

He of all people knew not to judge a person based on size. But Yama’s reputation combined with the vicious look on his face informed Dibs that this was not simply a man who happened to be big; this was a man who liked throwing his weight around in every sense of the word, and was just waiting for the smaller fry to slip up so he could commence.

As Dibs approached his table in the back of the dimly-lit restaurant that was owned and operated by Yama’s network, he wondered what you said to such a man. How you approached someone who knew he could break you in his hands, and seemed for all intents and purposes like he wanted to. With tact and care, obviously.

He put up his hand and waved. “Hi. I’m Dibs.”

Well, that was definitely wrong.

Yama leaned forward on an elbow on the table. “Sit.”

Dibs did so as quickly as possible, sitting up straight as a rod.

“I hear you have a job for me,” Yama told him.

“Mmhmm.” Dibs nodded vigorously.

“Well?” Yama urged. “Don’t waste my time. It won’t end well for you if you do.”

“Hang on!” Dibs retrieved his phone, found the offending images. “So I got these by complete coincidence, and I need them released to the public without any way to get it traced back to me.”

Yama leaned over to look at the phone…then burst out into raucous laughter. “This…this is EXACTLY what I needed to see today! I almost want to do this job for free just to see the look on Krei’s face!”

“Oh!” Dibs’ own face lit up. “That’s great! And here I was worried I wouldn’t have enough to – “

Yama’s face soured. “I said ALMOST.”

Dibs swallowed hard.

“This job is gonna cost you,” Yama told him.

“But, uh…it’s just a picture,” Dibs argued, “and if you get caught, well, you’re Yama, soooo…”

Yama leaned back, folding his arms smugly. “If it’s just a picture, YOU upload it.”

Dibs bit his lip, then sighed. “How much?”

Yama said a number, and it was far too high. Dibs knew it. He almost got up and walked away just at the sound of it. However…was he or was he not a thief? Couldn’t he just make up for this with a very big heist, or a run of them?

And right now, did he really have anything better to do with his life?

“Deal,” Dibs told him. “I’ll even pinky swear on it.”

“Please don’t.” Yama glared him down. “So. Are you going to pay upfront?”

“Upfr – oh, no. I, uh, left my wallet in my other pants – “

“Two months,” Yama told him. “You get me the payment in full by that time, or what happens to Krei tomorrow is going to look merciful compared to what happens to you.”

Well, that didn’t bode well in the slightest.

But Dibs was a man consumed by revenge. Insofar as he could be consumed by revenge. He wanted Krei taken down, no matter the cost. And he held on his phone the one thing that could dent the man’s supposedly infallible reputation, even with the pundits who relied on his questionable donations.

“Done,” Dibs decided. “No, seriously, do you wanna spit-shake on it or – “

“I’d rather pinky swear than touch your filthy spit.”

“Okay, so you DO wanna pinky swear – “

“NO!”

* * *

Without warning, Carl was escorted by security to the offices that were sequestered from the main prison facility.

“What’s this about?” he asked.

“Can’t say just yet,” one of his escorts told him. “But you’re gonna like it.”

“I doubt it,” Carl muttered.

He was brought to the desk of the warden, a man with a shakily cheerful smile, too used to putting on a face in front of the downtrodden he collected. “Carl,” he said in a tone that was equally faux-joyous, “we’ve decided to let you go early on account of your stellar behavior.”

Carl flinched. “It ain’t even been half a year. That’s way too short for check fraud.”

“Like I said: STELLAR behavior.”

“’Kay.” Carl nodded slowly. This had to be a dream, or a hallucination, or – “So who’s my parole officer?”

“Oh, no one,” the warden told him. “We’re trusting you enough to let you go unsupervised. Just try not to get into any more trouble out there.”

Carl raised a brow. “What’s the catch?”

“Oh, there’s no catch,” the warden lied. “It’s just that…well, a nice man like you shouldn’t stay cooped up in here, forgery or no forgery, don’t you think? Oh, but on your way out, there is someone who wants to talk to you. Ah, there he is now!”

Carl turned his gaze to the door to see Alistair Krei framed in it, a scowl etched upon his face.

Now Carl understood. A large sum of money had obviously exchanged hands for him to be gaining this treatment with no (visible) strings attached. As to why Krei would want to release his personal thorn in the side, that was a whole other matter.

“Walk with me, Carl,” Krei said sternly before turning to stride slowly down the hall.

“I’d go with him,” the warden said. “See you on the outside!”

Still wondering if this were just a dream he were seconds away from waking up from, Carl caught up with Krei, walking alongside him. “So,” Krei began. “You’re Misdemeanor Carl.”

“Startin’ to think that nickname’s outdated,” Carl told him. “So what’s this about?”

“I think you know what this is about, Carl.”

“Uh…no. I don’t.”

Krei halted, giving Carl a fierce yet cold look. Carl stopped in his own tracks, meeting Krei’s gaze and refusing to waver. “I’ve just given you a very, VERY big gift,” Krei told him. “You’re free now. You don’t even have a parole officer. You can go back to your life of crime. All I ask is one simple condition.”

“And that is?”

“You’ve ruined my life twice now,” Krei told him. “You and your little mystery accomplice. I want you to find that person and tell them to never, EVER do anything like that to me again.”

Dibs, Carl thought, what did you do? “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I work alone.”

“Don’t try to con me, convict,” Krei spat. “I take the face of the operation, and those pictures you sent me STILL manage to go viral? I know you have someone on the outside, Carl.”

Carl almost broke into laughter – the first time in innumerable days. So that was what Dibs had done.

“I can’t save face any more from it,” Krei seethed. “Now the whole WORLD knows about my fursona. The only thing I can do is make sure you get the message and pass it on to however many people you have in your network. This stops now, and you keep your freedom. Well, until you decide to land yourself back in here again for something that has nothing to do with me. If this goes ANY further – any more thefts, any more blackmail, any more ANYTHING, then it’s right back here for you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Carl replied.

Krei nodded. “Good.” He turned to resume his walk to the front entry, and Carl followed. “And here I thought you didn’t even have any accomplices. Whoever they are, they are extremely good at hiding. You put up a good front, acting like your anxious girlfriend was the only person in your circle.”

“My wh – “

As soon as Carl realized who Krei meant, he very nearly reinstated his sentence, only this time, for the charge of murder. But he kept his rage restrained. “HE’S just a friend.”

Krei gave a slight “hmph.”

At the gate, Krei walked out into a waiting limousine. “Goodbye for the last time, Misdemeanor Carl,” Krei told him. “I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

As the limo pealed out of sight, Carl growled after it, “Jerk.”

* * *

The first place Carl went was, understandably, home. They’d repossessed pretty much everything he’d bought on Krei’s money. He reinstalled his original television set in place of the more expensive one and put a small vase of plastic flowers out to fill the space left by the popcorn popper. He didn’t feel like putting all the chairs back just yet; he had a couch, anyway. He had something else more important to do.

Dibs wasn’t home when he knocked. Thinking it over, Carl wondered which of their old favorite haunts his friend would most likely be found haunting. He figured he might as well start with the obvious.

In his usual lonely booth at Joe’s Diner, Dibs poked at a soufflé pancake with a fork, steering it around in its lake of mixed syrups. It was the only pancake he’d ordered and he wasn’t even hungry for it. His stomach was paradoxically filled by emptiness. What did it mean when you finally exacted revenge and it didn’t feel satisfying at all? #FurryKrei and several variations of “making mooooooo-ney” had become the top trending memes within the last forty-eight hours, and while Dibs had forced himself to laugh at them at first, he now realized it was a hollow victory.

His eyes downcast, he didn’t even notice the other person sliding into the other end of the booth across from him. It was the almost playful asking of “You gonna eat that?” that got his attention.

When Dibs glanced up to see Carl sitting across from him, he flailed in surprise, knocking the plate onto his sweater and coating himself in syrup. “Y…you…” he sputtered, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Carl told him. “Miss me?”

Dibs was out of his seat in a flash, and Carl, knowing exactly what he wanted, stood as well. Dibs practically bowled Carl over as he locked arms around the larger man’s chest, holding him as tightly as he possibly could. Carl responded by returning the gesture, sliding his arms around Dibs’ back and pressing him close.

Proving that it did feel exactly as good as Dibs had suspected it would.

“H…how?” Dibs asked, voice cracking. “You were…you were gonna be in there for years…and I thought…” He sniffled, realizing his eyes were leaking. “Darn it, I wasn’t gonna cry…”

“It’s okay,” Carl reassured him, lifting one hand to gently stroke his blond hair. “Real men cry. And you, Dibs, are a real man.”

Dibs stepped back; Carl loosened his grip to allow him the room. “So…you know now,” he said sheepishly. “I, uh…I was gonna tell you eventually. Funny thing, that’s actually the other half of how I got my name. I had a friend in school once who called me ‘Debs’ and I LIKED that because it sounded less, you know, like a girl, and so then when I got my whole ‘calling dibs’ thing, it just fit, except my parents HATED it, so when I graduated, they just shoved my college fund at me and said they never wanted to see me again, but joke’s on them, I blew the entire thing on top surgery and hormone therapy, except not on changing my legal name, which I probably should’ve done first, and now I’m just babbling because I’m afraid of what you think – “

“Hey. Shh.” Carl playfully put a finger on Dibs’ lips. “Who you tell and when and if you tell ‘em is your business. Not mine. But y’know how you said to tell you if you said somethin’ racist? If I say somethin’ transphobic, could you – “

“Yes,” Dibs told him. “Yes, I can, and you won’t BELIEVE how much this means to me, except that’s not the point here, the point is YOU’RE OUT OF JAIL, and how did you DO that, and…oh.” He now realized that by pressing his syrup-stained shirt to Carl’s, he’d left the latter with syrup stains of his own. “Darn it, I’m sorry, hang on – “

Carl barely knew what Dibs was even talking about until the latter was trying to use table napkins to wipe off the former’s shirt, which Carl found far too cute. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. I’m serious. I got like ten more shirts this color. And they wash.”

Dibs tossed the napkin onto the table. “So what HAPPENED? Did you break out? Am I not supposed to be drawing attention to you right now? I’m not supposed to be drawing attention to you right now.” He spoke now in a loud whisper: “I’ll be quiet!”

Carl had been smiling, legitimately smiling, since their reunion. Still the same Dibs. And whether platonically or romantically, he definitely loved him in some way. “No need. Krei busted me out as incentive for the blackmail to stop. What I was wonderin’ was how YOU got those online without anyone knowin’ it was you.”

Dibs gaped. “The cow pictures…got you out of jail? Are you SERIOUS? I just wanted to make Krei mad! I didn’t know he’d – whoa!” He laughed then. “This is AWESOME!”

“Thing is, Krei ain’t a target anymore,” Carl told Dibs. “It’s part of the deal.” Then, in a very, very low whisper; “Unless he’s absolutely gotta be. Y’never know.” Louder: “So. Wanna reorder? My treat, to celebrate bein’ a free man again.”

“Yeah!” Dibs nodded fervently. After all, he did need to scrimp and save where he could in order to amass his debt to Yama. “And you need to eat something that isn’t prison food.”

“It wasn’t too bad.” Carl shrugged as the two sat back down. “Whole thing wasn’t too bad.” He looked across the table at Dibs, thinking of the nights he’d spent with his arm locked around his pillow. Imagining the man in front of him in that position. Liking it a bit too much for his own comfort; after all, he didn’t need to ruin a good friendship this soon after their reunion.

“I was actually worried,” Dibs told him. “Like, really worried.” Wishing he could be back in those strong arms, resting his head on Carl’s solid frame. No, no; he didn’t need to make things awkward at this point. They were awkward enough. (And thus did the both of them agree on a silence that would have been better aired.) “I’m…sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”  
“Being a coward. I almost told the truth, I swear, but – “

“Dibs,” Carl said sternly, “if you’d’ve told the truth, I never would’ve forgiven you. Look. We both woulda been in there for years. But you figured out a way to get me back on the street.” He grinned. “Still gotta tell me how you did that, by the way.”

Dibs felt a piercing cold wash over his body. He’d kept one promise to forfeit another. He couldn’t talk about his deal with Yama. Not now. Carl had wanted his incarceration to be his sole burden, without dragging Dibs into it. Dibs wanted Yama to be his and only his. “I’m smarter than you think,” he lied.

“Well, that much is obvious.”

Dibs forced the laugh.

“So…” Carl’s smile was even more mischievous. “Daczewitz?”

Dibs groaned.

“If that was over the line – “

“No, no. It’s just…embarrassing. Whose name is DACZEWITZ? Mine, apparently.”

“Eh, ‘Dibs’ works good enough for me,” Carl told him. “By the way, been thinkin’ about my own name. Check fraud’s a felony, y’know. Whaddaya think of ‘Felony Carl’?”

“Hey,” Dibs told him, “that’s got a ring to it!”

It seemed all was right with the world, but deep within the pit of Dibs’ stomach, terror brewed. For naïve as he seemed, he knew a thing or two about deals with the devil. And what he knew was that the more you benefited from the trade, the more would be asked of you in return.


	4. Gunshot

Dibs’ due date for Yama’s payment was almost up, and he’d been nowhere near able to amass enough money to fill it.

He was doing his best to keep his anxiety hidden from Carl, but more often, he just had to make up excuses for it. He’d almost gotten hit by another trolley that morning. He’d had another nightmare about clowns. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t left a roast in the oven.

It came to a head one night, as they sat watching television in the dark with popcorn of the cheap microwave variety. “You’re SURE there’s not a heist we could be planning?” Dibs asked nervously.

“We gotta take a break sometime,” Carl told him. “’Sides, ain’t like we got a deadline.”

Well, you don’t, Dibs thought.

As the night progressed, it took him all of forty-five minutes for his anxiety to completely consume him. He blurted out, “Did you teach me everything you know about defending yourself? I mean defending myself?”

“Not everythin’,” Carl told him. “Just basics for if you’re in a jam.” He thought over the lessons Dibs had mastered: how to break a hold, how to hit someone where it hurt in a critical situation, how to improvise weapons out of things he might have on his person, such as his keys. And, if need be, several tried and true escape routes around the city that were sure to shake off a pursuer. “Stuff I know, you wouldn’t wanna know.”

“What if I do?” Dibs asked. “Say I get in more trouble than I can handle.”

Carl began to get suspicious. “Dibs…you know somethin’ I don’t?”

“NO!” Dibs cried. “I mean no! No. I don’t. I just…you know how I get. I overthink things. And right now, I’m overthinking some fears…like if a trained assassin comes after me to shake me down for a huge debt I owe…just for an example…”

It went over Carl’s head. “I mean…there’s stuff I could show you. But it’s stuff there ain’t no goin’ back from. Like I said, I got blood on my hands.”

Dibs swallowed hard. “And if…I really wanna know?”

“You REALLY wanna know?”

“I do.”

Carl waited a moment, then rose from the couch. “Guess I can’t stop you if you ask nicely. But you gotta understand, this is heavy stuff.”

“I’m ready,” Dibs swore.

“I wasn’t ready,” Dibs squeaked as he trembled, arms outstretched.

At the end of those arms, clasped in a death grip in both hands, was a pistol.

It was aimed at a vaguely person-shaped cardboard cutout at the end of the alley. Not that the barrel was at any time ever pointed in such a way that it would hit anywhere on said cardboard. Dibs’ shaking kept it vibrating to every extreme direction.

“You don’t have to do this,” Carl reminded him, already regretting having started Dibs off with this. “It ain’t a small thing.”

“But I DO have to do this!” Dibs asserted. “If I ever get in REAL trouble…then I need to be able…to defend myself!”

He squeezed the trigger, and the resulting noise and kickback sent him stumbling back, falling hard on the pavement.

The bullet bounced off the wall and landed in a nearby dumpster.

“DIBS!” Carl yelled instinctively, perhaps a bit too protectively to be platonic. He dropped to one knee; “You okay?”

“Yeah…” Dibs replied. “Just…that is NOT easy. I know it’s just a THING, and I’m not actually SHOOTING ANYBODY, but…”

Carl’s hand rested on one of Dibs’ arms. “Put it aside.”

At that, Dibs eagerly tossed the pistol off to his left. “Thank you,” he whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Carl told him. “It ain’t for everyone. I only use mine as an extreme last resort. It takes a piece outta you, whether it’s a kill shot or not.”

“S-so you have killed people…” Dibs blurted. “No, wait, darn it, I’m sorry – “

Carl’s grip tightened around his arm – but affectionately rather than as any sort of admonishing. “If there’d been any other way, I wouldn’t’ve. And I hope I never gotta do it again. But sometimes, you need to.”

“Maybe I can bluff,” Dibs suggested. “Maybe all I need to do is show them I HAVE a gun, and they’ll back off.”

“No.” Carl’s tone was hard, sharp. “That’s rule number one: never draw a gun you don’t intend to shoot. They always call your bluff. Always.” A pause. “That’s why I had to end up pulling the trigger.”

Dibs sensed he was approaching something best not unearthed. “Maybe…maybe a knife?”

“You could stab somebody?”

“N-no…”

“I ain’t tryin’ to condescend,” Carl told him, “but pepper spray works pretty good in an emergency, too, and nobody ever died from that.”

Dibs shifted to stand; Carl got up first, extending his hand. Dibs didn’t really need to take it, but he did anyway. Like the rest of Carl, it was rough on the exterior, but one could feel how soft and flexible it was despite the calluses. “I think that’s what it’ll have to be for now,” Dibs sighed. “I promise one day I won’t be a coward.”

“It ain’t cowardice, Dibs.”

“I know. I just…” Dibs sighed. “Never mind. I’m sorry I dragged you out here.”

“Hey. You learned somethin’.” Carl nudged him with an elbow. “You just owe me for the next ice cream.”

Well, it wasn’t like Dibs was going to be able to pay off Yama anyway. “Deal.”

* * *

The evening of the payment due date, Dibs departed from Carl’s house with a sense of dread. He knew walking home alone was probably the worst decision he could have made, but what else was there to be done? Anything he could have said to get Carl to walk with him would have given his situation away. And he definitely wasn’t asking to spend the night at his house. That would have been suspicious in multiple ways.

Yet against the background rainbow of city lights, Dibs began to feel almost tranquil. He was just a few steps away from his apartment building, and nothing bad had happened to him yet. Maybe he had just a little leeway, a little more time –

He was seized by three men who seemed to have materialized from the darkness itself, a gag stuffed in his mouth before he could get the scream out. A heavy cloth bag went over his head, and then he was being carried away, struggling in vain.

* * *

Dibs wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected. Nor why he was surprised that his situation had become being dangled upside-down off the edge of one of the highest skyscrapers in the city, over one of the busiest roads, by a pair of Yama’s enforcers. If those grips on his ankles loosened, he was in for a terrifying fall. Not even anything quick and painless.

He yelped in fear, which fell on deaf ears. Yama advanced to stand over him, looking down upon him; “I’ll ask one more time. Where’s…MY MONEY?”

“I…I lost it?” Dibs attempted. Well, that was probably the worst excuse he’d ever made up. The roast-in-the-oven bit was more believable. Though, then again, he didn’t know what did match his track record more: being unable to accumulate the funds or managing to come into a large sum of money and then completely losing it. Actually, either scenario was credible.

The third enforcer, the one who wasn’t currently keeping Dibs from plummeting to his own shatter, suddenly spoke up, holding out a cell phone; “Yama. It’s HIM.”

Without a word, Yama turned and left. Dibs didn’t know who “he” was, nor did he particularly care. All he could manage was to eke out “Go ahead and take the call” as the others automatically heaved him back up onto the roof and settled him on the right side of the glass railing.

The third man slid a door shut, sequestering Yama where he could take the call in peace. Dibs knew this was a window of opportunity. He had perhaps this one chance to escape. Now, what did he know about escaping larger, stronger opponents?

What he knew was that he was going to have to get extremely lucky to pull this off.

The pepper spray can came out of his pocket, and he emptied its contents into the face of one of the men standing guard on him. As that one screamed, Dibs rammed his foot into the groin of the other, who doubled over and clenched his teeth.

Then Dibs bolted.

“HEY!” the third yelled. “DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY!”

Dibs was already sprinting as fast as he could go, practically sliding down this building’s fire escape. He all but fell the last floor down, landing hard on the pavement before getting up and resuming his escape, Yama’s men still hurrying down the ladders after him.

A moment was all it took for Dibs to calculate the nearest escape route Carl had shown him. He took off down the street, crossing several lines of traffic and earning himself a few angry car honks in the process before disappearing down the nearest side street. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him that Yama’s men were slowed slightly by the vehicular flow, but still giving chase.

Dibs didn’t entirely trust his own legs to outrun all three of them. He had plenty of twists and turns upcoming, but was unsure if that would be enough to throw them off the trail. Not to mention he’d never actually run this one before; only talked it through with Carl. He wasn’t entirely sure he was even going the right way.

Now uncertain if he would survive the night, he fumbled for his phone, dialing the top contact as he ran. If this were going to be his last night, he had to tell the truth. All of it. From how he’d gotten into this situation to how he really felt about Carl.

For a moment, the heart-pounding fear that he would be transferred to voicemail. Then the familiar deep “Hey.”

“Carl – “ Dibs panted into the phone. “There’s something I have to tell you. I don’t know – “

He stumbled into a cylindrical metal garbage can. Its contents spilled across the street. Dibs barely kept on his feet, slowed for a moment before resuming the escape. That would have cost him steps. Potentially the difference between his life and his death.

“Dibs?” Carl was now acutely aware that something was wrong. “Dibs, what’s happening? Where are you?”

“I kiiiiiiinda broke my promise?” he admitted, now keeping his eyes on the road as he bolted and nearly missing his next turn. “Carl, when I got those pictures of Krei online, I went through Yama, even though you told me not to, and he charged me – “

“You WHAT?”

“I KNOW I SAID I WOULDN’T!” Dibs yelled into the phone, almost in tears. “I just got caught up in wanting revenge! I didn’t even know it would get you out of jail! I just…I was stupid! I’m always stupid! I’m sorry! But they’re after me, and they almost killed me once already. If they catch up to me, then…then…”

He zigged and zagged down a series of quick turns. Now he could no longer see the enforcers behind him, but he wasn’t so foolish as to think he’d won the game. “Carl, I don’t know if I’m coming back alive tonight. You need to know I – “

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

Carl’s sudden loudness cut Dibs off with a flinch. “Please, don’t!” he begged. “If you get involved, then you’ll be dead, too, and this is my mistake, okay? Please stay where you are! Just LISTEN to me!”

“Dibs, if you don’t tell me where you are RIGHT NOW, I’m hanging up and coming out there to find you anyway, even if I have to look through the whole city. And you know I ain’t gonna be safe doin’ that with this goin’ on. So you can tell me or you can let me drive around for five hours.”

Cornered by this argument, Dibs admitted, “I’m taking escape route epsilon. I’m on Momota Street right now, heading toward the turnoff into Soda.”

“Keep running it. I’ll find you.”

“Carl, don’t! Carl, I – I – “ He steeled himself. “I LOVE – “

The connection had already gone dead.

Dibs didn’t even have the energy for a “darn it.”

He kept at the memorized route, feeling as though his lungs were about to burst, his throat rough. Yet he knew he couldn’t stop; as he’d feared, one of Yama’s thugs had picked up his trail – the one who’d given Yama the cell phone and escorted him away – and now was in hot pursuit again.

Dibs slid into the alley that formed the next leg of the route, realizing where he’d hit a snag. The next step was to scale the fire escape of the apartment building to the left, but that ladder was drawn up. He’d have to jump that high, grab it, and scramble onto the landing.

Dibs had never possessed any sort of upper body strength whatsoever. He already knew the outcome of this.

He leapt, hands grasping desperately upward. They barely caught the bottom rung of the ladder. Panicked, Dibs tried in vain to pull himself up onto the landing, but he couldn’t even strain his way to his shoulders meeting that height. There he dangled, helplessly, as Yama’s enforcer entered the alley.

The man drew a pistol as he approached Dibs, stalking toward him like a predator having found its prey. “You picked the wrong guy to run away from,” he said menacingly. “Nobody cheats Yama and lives to talk about it.”

“I didn’t CHEAT HIM!” Dibs protested. “I just didn’t have the money!” He kicked furiously, as though that would somehow help his ascent. “Please, please don’t do this! I’ll do anything! I’ll pay back double if you give me another week! Just PLEASE – “

“It’s too late to bargain,” the man told him.

The thunderclap of the gunshot was all Dibs heard. He lost his grip on the ladder rung, falling hard to the pavement below, landing on his back.

He didn’t even perceive the time between gripping the ladder and ending up on the ground. Yet it seemed to take a century for him to realize that he wasn’t the one who’d been shot.

He pried himself up to a sitting position, nausea coming over him in a wave as he beheld Yama’s enforcer dead on the ground, his head now a bloody mess that was spread out across the alley lengthwise.

Nothing made sense in those crucial moments. Dibs wondered if perhaps he had died, and something in his brain had altered his perception to think he’d been spared in favor of his would-be assassin. But no, here he was, definitely breathing and loudly so at that, and the other man was dead, horribly dead, his gore so unlike anything Dibs had ever expected to see in his life, and Dibs simply couldn’t move –

Then he noticed the large shadow at the entryway to the alley. His first thought was of Yama, come to finish him off. Then he realized the silhouette wasn’t quite the right shape for that. All the same, as it advanced, Dibs felt he should be running again, trying to escape his new pursuer, but he was frozen, unable to do anything but hyperventilate.

Then, when the silhouette got close enough, he recognized who it was – hair tied back with a bandanna, leather vest flapping from the momentum of his brisk pace, the incriminating pistol in his right hand.

“Dibs,” Carl panted. “Dibs, tell me you’re okay.”

Dibs couldn’t find words at all. He simply shuddered, there on the ground, eyes wide as they could be.

It occurred to Carl that Dibs had just seen him murder a man in cold blood, and perhaps his very presence was what gave him such panic at the moment – he’d revealed what he was capable of in a way that words couldn’t have prepared Dibs for. “Is it me?” he asked. “Do you need me to back off?”

Dibs managed to choke out the word “No.” His stare, now locked on Carl, was pleading. “Carl…I…”

The pistol was discarded. Carl rushed to Dibs, dropping to his knees, pulling the smaller man into a tight embrace. “It’s okay,” he said softly, all too calmly given what had just happened. “You’re okay. I gotcha. I ain’t gonna let you get hurt tonight. NOBODY hurts my Dibs.”

“Thank…you…”

Dibs shook like a leaf, pressing into Carl as closely as he could. It was a small comfort, but one he would gladly take.

“You gotta breathe more slowly,” Carl told him calmly. “It’ll help.”

“C…can’t…”

“I’ll count. Breathe in and out when I tell you to.”

“O…kay…”

“Breathe in now,” Carl told him softly. “For three. One…two…three.”

He and Dibs inhaled in synchrony, Carl deliberately giving him the pattern to match.

“Now out for four. One…”

They stayed this way for a few cycles of counting until Dibs’ breathing had stabilized. Carl found himself gently rubbing at Dibs’ back, trying to calm him down, thinking about what a farce it was that he was playing the part of the calm voice of reason when internally, he was anything but. He’d almost lost his Dibs. If he’d been but a second later…

No. He couldn’t think about that. It hadn’t happened. His Dibs was alive, and needed him. At least Carl could act out the charade. After all, this wasn’t his first back-alley gunfight.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” Dibs choked out, now beginning to sob in the process. “I…I should’ve listened…I shouldn’t’ve – “

“No,” Carl told him. “Don’t apologize. This wasn’t your fault. The only person here to blame is Yama.”

“But you said…and I didn’t LISTEN – “

“Shhh. That doesn’t matter right now. You’re safe. Trust me.”

Dibs was now heaving wordless sobs into Carl’s chest, and Carl softly told him, “It’s okay. Just let it out. It’s just you and me. We ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘till you’re ready. And I ain’t lettin’ anyone else hurt you. I gotcha.”

For a moment, Dibs thought maybe he should say it, what he’d meant to say when he’d called Carl. But how could he say it now, when he had just dragged his best friend (whom he did love) into this mess, made him get blood on his hands all over again, broken his trust, probably got Yama on his trail…

“You’re okay,” Carl kept repeating. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” If only he could guarantee that forever.

Dibs finally gathered his thoughts enough to say the confession he really wanted to make now: “You…deserve so much better…”

“What?”

“You deserve better than me…”

“No.” Carl now moved his hand from Dibs’ back to his head, gently stroking his hair. “You’re one of the – no. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“But Yama – and you – they’re gonna – “

“Dibs,” Carl told him firmly, “trust me. I’ve done this dance with Yama before. Why’d you think I warned you about him? I’m gonna be fine…long as I don’t lose you.”

It was a long time before Dibs finally choked out, “We need to go home.”

Carl relinquished his hold, kneeling back to look Dibs in the eye. The blond looked somewhat improved from his earlier state of panic, but only somewhat. “About that,” Carl told him. “Ain’t safe for you to go out on your own now. Not ‘till we figure out how far Yama’s gonna go with this. I hate to do this to you, but…you’re stayin’ with me. I’ll make up the couch. It’s pretty comfy with the right blanket.” He averted his gaze momentarily. “Sorry you can’t go back – “

“No, this is good,” Dibs told him. “I feel safe when I’m with you and I – “

He swallowed the rest of that sentiment. He really, truly couldn’t give Carl the extra burden of his emotions realized. Not after he’d done this to the man. And Carl wasn’t even angry. How could someone so perfect even stand having Dibs as a friend?

“I don’t mind,” Dibs finished softly. “Staying at your place.”

Carl looked him in the eye again, then nodded. “I took the bike over here. Think you can hang on if I – “

“No. I know I can’t.”

“Then we’ll walk. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Carl gently helped Dibs up to his feet, then led the way. Dibs stayed close, gaze flickering around for the next sign of a potential attacker. The fear would take a while to fade, Carl knew. And deep down, he’d been aware that Dibs would have to be initiated into the darker underbelly of the crime circuit at some point. This experience would give him a needed sort of resilience. Now that he knew how high the stakes were, he could learn to work with that. Still Carl wished that lesson didn’t have to be so hard.

He thought about putting an arm around Dibs’ shoulder to walk him home, but wasn’t sure if Dibs would see that as a comfort or a come-on. And the last thing Dibs needed right now, Carl was sure, was the burden of knowing that Carl was steadily getting closer to loving him in the romantic sense. He didn’t need to navigate that on top of having Yama breathing down his neck.

What did happen was that Dibs, frightened by a sudden motion on one of the more brightly-lit streets, instinctively reached out and embraced just Carl’s arm, and Carl didn’t shake him away.

* * *

“Tick tock, Yama,” the lilting voice said through the cell phone that Yama held up to his ear. “Why don’t I have what I asked you for?”

“I’m dealing with a bunch of things at once, okay?” Yama growled in response. “I tried to collect a debt, the guy got away, and now one of my guys turns up dead in an alley after tryin’ to chase him! And I KNOW that loser didn’t pull the trigger!”

“Hmm…interesting,” Yama’s correspondent mused. “You wouldn’t happen to have any enemies in this city, now, would you?”  
“Why do YOU need to know that?” Yama snapped.

“Call it a passing curiosity,” the other replied, though Yama knew there was more to it. When it came to this man, there was always more. “Now, do you have a name for me?”

“It happened close to the Bad Neighborhood,” Yama grunted, “but couldn’t’ve been anyone from there. I have an agreement with everyone there. Don’t cross me and I won’t cross you. The only one who went against me is that LOSER I was shaking down!”

“Perhaps that loser is not to be underestimated,” Yama’s correspondent mused. “Though are you sure there’s no one else? The ‘Bad Neighborhood’ sounds like a place rife with…opportunity.”

Yama snorted. “No. No one else’d be that stupid – “

Then, an old memory resurfaced. “No. Unless it was THAT guy.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Used to be a family of four lived in that neighborhood,” Yama explained. “One of those cutesy crime squads. All of ‘em involved in one thing or the other. They got in my way, so I took out the mom of the group. But that was YEARS ago! The other three learned what happens if they cross me! Ever since the night I had her bumped off, they’ve stayed in line!”

“Is that so?”

“Well,” Yama recalled, “one of ‘em fought for it. First hit I put on the woman didn’t even land ‘cause one of her sons pulled the trigger fi – “ His eyes widened. “JUST LIKE THE GUY TONIGHT!”

“I think I’m going to need a name, Yama.”

“Castellano,” Yama replied. “There’s three of ‘em left alive in that neighborhood.”

“And who was the one who disposed of your esteemed assassin?”

Yama didn’t see how any of this mattered. That was why it was all the more frightening. “The younger brother. Carl.”

“I see.” A light click-click-click, the correspondent tapping his fingernails against something. “Yama, I don’t want you to waste any more time on this trail. You are to focus on getting me what I asked you for, and ONLY that. If I find out you did anything to dispose of this Carl against my will, rest assured, the consequences will be dire.”

If there was one person in the whole world who could actually get Yama to fear his threats, it was that man. “I get it. I’ll get you the device.”

“Good. I expect it soon.”

The call disconnected.

In a darkened laboratory, lithe fingers danced over a keyboard. An enormous monitor brought up mugshots of “Felony” Carl Castellano, bringing with them his entire criminal record.

“Hmm,” the shadowy man mused. “You’re certainly no supervillain, but you have quite the résumé. Perhaps you’ll work for what I have planned. Only time will tell…”

His fingers flew, typing out sequences. Blueprints for androids enlarged themselves on the screen, obscuring Carl’s biography.

“…and a little experimentation.”


	5. Truth or Truth

The ambush had come from nowhere, in yet another back alley. Why always back alleys? They dropped from above, surrounding Dibs and Carl, dressed in the old-fashioned black costumes of ninjas. After the preliminary phase of disbelief that they’d been randomly assaulted by an army of ninjas, Dibs and Carl readied themselves for the fight.

They went back-to-back, squaring off, fists balled. “Got your back,” Carl stated.

“And I got yours,” Dibs replied.

The ninjas advanced, and their targets began to fend them off with fist and foot.

Only to find out that really, Carl having Dibs’ back was the only part of the exchange that held solidly. Immediately, Carl had dodged the first one, landed a hook on a second, and shoved a third into a fourth. At the same time, Dibs had been kicked in the shin, punched in the face, elbowed in the solar plexus, and thrown like a rag doll across the alley.

From within his dark bastion, the watcher observed the scene with interest through the eyes of one of his deployed attackers. “Well, you’re certainly tough enough, Felony Carl,” the watcher muttered. “But is there a brain beneath all that rippling muscle?”

The next time one of Carl’s punches landed, he heard the thud and felt the pressure. He looked from his hand to the ninja in disbelief. “You ain’t human,” he said softly before grabbing the assailant by the head and smashing it against the wall.

Which, had he been wrong, would’ve been utterly traumatic, but all that spilled out were microchips and the tiniest of mechanisms.

“Bots,” Carl realized. “DIBS! THEY’RE BOTS!”

“OKAY!” Dibs called over from where he was being kicked around. “NOT SURE HOW THAT HELPS ME, BUT GOOD TO KNOW ANYWAY! OW!”

“Ooh, you are clever,” the watcher remarked. “You just might have what it takes to fly with me to the sun. But will you weigh down my wings in another way? What would happen if I removed the spare from the field?”

His fingers spelled out a command. And the ninja-bots were ready to execute.

When the crowd of them that surrounded Dibs suddenly fell stock-still, Dibs knew something bad was on the horizon. He let out a keening “Darn iiiiiiiit” just before the barrage.

Red lasers erupted from cannons hidden in the wrists of every ninja-bot. Dibs, having seen something like this coming, leapt aside, the beams grazing and ripping his clothing but leaving him unharmed. The ninja-bots pivoted to follow him, but Dibs liked to think he’d gotten better at winning the chase since his encounter with Yama’s men. He was able to stumble just out of their reach yet again, adrenaline coursing through him. How long would he have to keep this up before something happened to rid him of this problem?

He didn’t have long enough. Dibs, being Dibs, tripped over his own foot, and he went down.

A single laser hit home.

The scream pierced the night sky.

The moment Carl heard it, his instincts took over. He picked up the ninja-bot he was engaged with and threw it across the alley, knocking its fellows over like bowling pins. He then bashed his way through the semicircle of ninja-bots that had their ammunition trained on Dibs, breaking the central two of them. Dropping to his knees, he slid, the fabric of his pants roughing up in the process. Without even assessing what damage had been done, he positioned himself over the fallen Dibs, between him and the ninja-bots, back to them.

The watcher had programmed them all to avoid harming his biosignature, and the watcher was considering overriding it then and there. “Throwing yourself into the arms of death to save someone inconsequential?” he muttered. “That’s a few points off your score.”

Carl gave the ninja-bots a stone-faced look over his shoulder. Yes, he knew robots wouldn’t care if he glowered at them, but still he felt compelled to growl, “Just try it. I DARE you.”

The watcher sighed. Rolled his eyes. “Seems you’re not what I was looking for at all. Then again, given your credentials, I should’ve suspected. I need to raise the bar.”

His finger lay on the key that, when pressed, would activate the remaining lasers, disintegrating both men on the field. Then, after a moment’s deliberation, it lifted without depressing it. “Waste not, want not.”

The bots reconfigured themselves, revealing four more hidden limbs each, and crawled up the alley walls like spiders before disappearing into the night.

Carl knew he should probably be worried about who was sending robots that looked like ninjas into the night to assault people, and if there was any pattern to the victims chosen. However, that was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

He turned to look at Dibs, really look at him, and not be distracted by the deep, pooling red that was spreading beneath him.

“No,” Carl muttered. “No, no, no no no no no…”

He forced himself to concentrate on the details. The blood was only coming from one place. Dibs had been hit in the right thigh, across the front, severing in enough to draw quite a bit of blood. Not fatal, unless he were allowed to bleed out. He whimpered in agony, only able to get out the words, “It hurts…it hurts…”

“I know,” Carl said softly, forcing himself to be calm. He could do this, he knew. He’d already put up the act once, when tending to Dibs’ fears after the near-assassination. That time, however, Dibs had been wounded psychologically but not physically. This time, the stakes seemed a little higher. Carl was never one to dismiss psychological issues as lesser than physical illness, but the truth was no one ever bled out in the street from being traumatized. Forcing his hand steady, he demanded, “Let me look.”

He tugged the ripped pant fabric around the wound, and Dibs cried out louder.

“Sorry,” Carl muttered. The wound was too deep to be called superficial, but it was definitely the sort one could bounce back from.

“Can’t…go to a hospital,” Dibs strained out. “Can’t afford it…and our RECORDS…”

“I know,” Carl told him. “It’ll be okay. I can fix this. You just gotta trust me.”

I gotta trust me, he told himself.

He had to wrap up the wound in some sort of makeshift bandage to keep it from leaking too much. It should be white, so as not to bleed any dyes into Dibs’ veins, but when you had nothing correct, you had to take some risks or lose the whole. The red bandanna came off, letting Carl’s hair spill loosely. He wrapped it tightly around Dibs’ wound, eliciting another yelp from him.

“It’s gonna hurt like that for a while,” Carl told him. “You gotta put up with it a little longer. But I can fix it. Just trust me.”

“I…I do…”

Carl then slid one arm beneath Dibs’ knees and one behind his back, lifting him up fluidly. He knew his friend wouldn’t be able to walk, not on that leg. And he was quite light, hardly an effort to lift. “Just hang in there,” Carl whispered to him.

Dibs responded by flinging one arm up to cling tightly to Carl’s shoulder.

Carl bolted through the night, Dibs in arms, thinking over the plan as soon as he got back home. He had everything he needed to tend to a wound of this type. He just hadn’t had to do this in such a long time that he needed to remind himself what needed to be done, in what order, and with what supplies.

He now found himself hoping the wound really wasn’t as deep as it had looked from a preliminary observation. If he needed to get serious about treatment, if he needed to do what he thought…no, he couldn’t do that to Dibs.

He’d left the door to his house locked, he realized as he approached. No time to fumble for keys; no way to do it without dropping his precious cargo. So he aimed just one solid kick at the door, which blew off its hinges and collapsed into the hall.

“Just a bit longer,” he told Dibs. “I’m gonna get you settled down and we’re gonna take a look at this.”

Dibs’ grip tightened on his shoulder, accompanied by wordless moans.

The smaller man was placed lightly on the couch he usually called his bed, legs propped up by a pillow. Carl steadied himself with several deep breaths; he was definitely not ready for this. He’d thought his experience treating his own injuries made him qualified. Turned out hurting himself was a lot easier than hurting a friend, even if it was in the name of healing.

“Dibs,” he said slowly, “I’m gonna have to look at where you got hit again. I’m gonna make it hurt more.”

“I don’t care,” Dibs moaned. “Just don’t let me die!”

Carl almost, almost had to chuckle at that. “You’re not gonna die, Dibs. Promise. Also, I, uh…” Well, this was an awkward factor he hadn’t considered. “I’m gonna have to get a clear view, so I, uh…I’m gonna need to…take off…” He was blushing by the time he eked out the words “your pants.”

“It’s fine!” Dibs insisted. “I just – I can’t – “

He was beginning to gasp again, like the night Carl had killed Yama’s enforcer. Before making any move toward Dibs’ wound, Carl quickly grasped his hand. “Dibs, you gotta slow your breathing down. We’re gonna count.”

“No – I’m fine – “

“Dibs. You’re just gonna get sick that way. …And this’ll also help with the pain.”

“This is literally the worst I’ve ever felt in my life,” Dibs complained. “This counts the time I almost cut my fingers off slamming them in the door when I was ten.”

Carl rubbed his thumb softly over the back of Dibs’ hand. “Still got all ten. We’ll fix this too. But we gotta start with the breathing. Ready?”

“Y…yeah…”

Two cycles of counting, and Dibs had stabilized his oxygen intake at least. “Okay,” he said, somewhat more calm. “Tell me how bad it is.”

Removing the bandage was one thing. The pants were yet another. Carl couldn’t help but feel as though this were an extreme invasion of privacy. Heat rose to his face to an extreme degree; once he’d stripped the fabric off, he could now see that Dibs had very nice legs indeed, framed by a bright purple set of loose boxers.

There was, however, a distinct difference between admiring someone’s physical figure and being in love with them. This almost made things worse than before, because Carl couldn’t even begin to imagine just using Dibs for something carnal without developing an emotional connection. Taking him into private and then throwing him away. Never. He’d sooner…

Well, do what he was realizing he had to do, looking at this wound. It was pretty deep. Carl’s stomach turned with dread. No, he had to keep calm. Dibs was already panicked enough. He couldn’t lose his grip now.

“I’m…gonna start by cleaning it off,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

Walking around the house, gathering the items he required. A towel, a bowl of clean water with just a smidgen of soap, several ice packs.

The thread.

Walking back, kneeling down to spread these items around him, he made a point of pushing the thread back, trying to hide it. “It’s gonna hurt again,” he warned.

“I’m ready,” Dibs told him. “Well, actually, no, I’m not ready, but I’m never going to be, so you might as well get it over with!”

Carl swallowed hard, wetting the towel, stroking it over the wound.

Dibs let out another scream, followed by a “Sorrysorrysorry – “

“Don’t apologize,” Carl told him, sponging away the external dirt. Luckily, it seemed clean on the interior. He could cut right to business. “It’s…it’s me who’s gonna be sorry in a minute.”

“Wh…why?”

Carl sighed, laying down the towel. The wound was clean enough anyway. “It’s deep. I know how to fix it. But I gotta make it hurt worse to do that, and I…I can’t do that to you.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Carl realized he’d been avoiding looking Dibs in the eye, and he turned to do so then. Dibs’ eyes were wide, panicked, shining with tears. “If…if it were me…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish.

“I can take it,” Dibs said softly. “I signed up for this, remember?”

“…I’d stitch it up, if it were me,” Carl said, barely audible. “I’ve got a surgical thread for exactly that. I’ve done it on myself before. But nothing to numb the pain. When it’s me…it’s fine. But you…”

“Okaaaaay, not gonna lie, that sounds…kind of horrible.” Dibs forced a smile. “But I’m resilient, right? I fell out your window…I almost got shot…” A choking laugh. “What’s a few stitches?”

“I can’t do it,” Carl sighed. “I know…I know I gotta. But…”

“Carl,” Dibs told him, faux smile fading, “I said I trust you, and I still do. This isn’t gonna be easy. But if this is what’s best…and I think you know what is…then I guess I gotta put up with it. I mean, it’s better than some doctor I don’t know stabbing me with a needle over and over, right? You can do this. I promise I won’t scream much.”

“Don’t promise that,” Carl told him flatly. “I know you can’t.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m gonna scream. But I KNOW you don’t wanna hurt me. I wouldn’t wanna hurt you either. So can you just…get it over with?”

Left with no other option, Carl nodded. “Okay. Can’t back down now.”

“Carl…you’re always telling me how it’s okay to cry and let it out and be emotional – “

“Here,” Carl interrupted, placing one of the ice packs in Dibs’ nearest hand. “You’ll feel it less if you got somethin’ to concentrate on. Like how cold this is.”

“Okay, but what I’m trying to say is that I know you’re trying really hard to keep your cool for me, but this isn’t exactly a cool situation, and – “

The needle, threaded, poised over flushed-pale skin.

“And it’s okay to be scared. Or whatever you’re feeling. You don’t HAVE to be strong all the time, Carl. Actually, I need to start stepping up to the plate and – “

Somehow, that was the trigger word. As soon as Carl could absorb the message that he didn’t have to be calm when it wasn’t required of him – meaning as soon as this operation was over, he could let go. But before Dibs could downplay his own self again.

The needle stabbed.

And Dibs did, in fact, scream. He clutched the ice pack tightly, threatening to break it in his frail grip, trying to divert his attention away from the white-hot agony surging through his leg.

It seemed an eternity.

When the suture was tied off, Carl backed away, now allowing his own hands to shake. “This isn’t okay,” he babbled, dropping the bloody needle onto the carpet. “It isn’t okay. You’re hurt, and you almost died tonight, and I can’t…I’m not okay with…”

“Carl,” Dibs whispered. “C’mere.”

“There’s more I gotta do,” Carl sputtered. “Gotta clean it off one more time, get an antiseptic on it, wrap it up – “

“Before you do. Please.”

Carl approached Dibs gingerly, and now Dibs could see that Carl was the one crying this time – the first time Dibs had ever seen such a thing. Dibs briefly thought about apologizing again, about talking about how he hadn’t meant to put his friend through this much stress over him – but that would be making it about him again, wouldn’t it? And that was the last thing Carl needed, to worry about Dibs’ personal problems.

Instead, he let the ice pack fall from his hand, stretching it out. Carl, slowly kneeling, took the cue, placing his own hand in Dibs’.

“I wanted to do this for you,” Carl said shakily, “but I needed both hands to sew it up – “

“Shh,” Dibs told him. “It really is gonna be okay. Like you always say. You did it. It’s all stitched up. I’m not gonna die. You said so.” He squeezed Carl’s hand tightly. “I wouldn’t leave you behind like that.”

Carl’s other hand surrounded Dibs’ almost reverently. “I keep thinkin’ I’m the one who got you hurt.”

“No, that’s…that’s definitely not what happened. But let’s not talk about that, okay?”

He wanted to say it again. How much he really cared. Perhaps loved. But what kind of love was this, when he was always putting Carl through tending to him, caring for him, making sure he was all right? An unfair kind. So what he said instead was “You’re the best friend I could’ve ever hoped to have. I mean it.”

“Thanks, Dibs. It’s…it’s a big deal to hear that.”

After a moment of silence, Carl relinquished Dibs’ hand. “But we gotta finish this. And you’re not outta the woods yet.”

“Bring it on,” Dibs said with an obviously strained smile.

As the next wet towel touched the freshly stitched wound, Dibs yelped, “MAYBE DON’T BRING IT ON THAT HARD!”

“We’re almost done,” Carl muttered. A third towel, one untouched by blood, layered an antiseptic over the stitches, and a thought occurred to Carl; “It’s like that one song.”

“What song?”

“You know. That one that’s on every chart now. I forget the title.”

“That…doesn’t narrow it down.”

“I just know it says something like ‘It might be your wound, but they’re my sutures,’” Carl recalled. “…Kinda how I feel right now, all considered.”

“Huh. That’s poetic.”

A clean white bandage was wrapped over the sutures, and then it was done. Carl breathed heavily, going against his own advice, feeling as though what he’d just done was akin to running a marathon. “You’re…you’re done. You’re good.”

Dibs let out a long breath. “Thank you. I mean it.”

Carl wanted to say that he’d do it anytime, but that had been harrowing. “I’m…just glad you’re okay.”

“You said you did this on yourself?” Dibs suddenly remembered. “When was that?”

“Did a lot of reckless things when I was younger,” Carl told him. “Got shot with an actual bullet once, in the arm. Made the rookie mistake of tryin’ to take the bullet out right away. Still got the scar.”

“Can I see it?”

Dibs’ inquiry was so glib, so casual, that Carl was taken aback at first. He then slowly pivoted, rolling up one of his sleeves to reveal his upper arm, where the skin puckered.

“Okay, that is gross,” Dibs told him. “But it also makes you look tough. Not that you don’t without it. I mean, okay, now I’m trying to cover for the fact that all I said was that it was gross, but I don’t hate it, and…ugh, darn it!”

Carl caught himself laughing silently. Lowering his sleeve, he told Dibs, “It’s pretty gross. Trust me, you didn’t wanna see when it was open.”

“I don’t need to trust you on that,” Dibs told him, turning his head up to stare at the ceiling. “I know.”

“So…” Carl ran a hand through his tousled hair nervously. “You gonna be able to sleep?”

“No. It still REALLY hurts.”

“Hang on. I got somethin’ for that.”

Carl disappeared, only to return with a glass of water and a pair of tablets. “Just over-the-counter stuff,” he explained. “The kind for headaches. Oughta do somethin’.”

After Dibs downed it, he admitted, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of pegged you for the kind of guy who’d have something stronger around to get rid of pain.”

“There’re reasons I don’t,” Carl told him. “Anyway. I’ll, uh…I’ll stay up with you until you can sleep.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I wanna do it.”

Dibs squirmed a bit, pressing his shoulders a little further upright against the couch arm. “Well, I am glad I have someone to talk to. …Specifically you. That wasn’t meant to mean just ANYONE…you know.”

Now, if only Carl had any idea what to say. He let an awkward silence descend for a solid minute before admitting, “Don’t know what to talk about.”

Dibs’ eyes suddenly lit up. “That’s okay! I know plenty of things! We could play twenty questions, or wed-bed-behead…how about Truth or Dare?”

Carl snorted. “Dibs. How’re you gonna play Truth or Dare with a leg outta commission?”

“Oh,” Dibs realized. “Then we could just make it…Truth or Truth.”

“So we just ask questions to each other and tell the answers.”

“You make it sound so boring,” Dibs groaned. “It’s Truth or Dare but without the dares!”

Carl’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I’m in. Let’s play.”

He settled into a sitting position on the carpet, pushing aside all of the impromptu medical supplies. He knew how this game worked. The questions that got put on the table were always personal, revealing. He’d been careful to guard so many things from Dibs, the things he wanted to stay buried in the past. But now…well, he’d just sewn up the man’s leg. There were hardly any boundaries between them anymore. Carl almost wanted to give payback – he’d seen so much of Dibs physically now (even if it wasn’t the most private bits) that he could only think to give back by peeling his emotional layers. They’d been friends for long enough. Dibs deserved to know whatever he wanted. To that end, he encouraged, “You first.”

“Mmm…okay.” Dibs thought it over. “So if you could change the ending of any movie you’ve ever seen, what would it be?”

That wasn’t at all what Carl had expected. He almost laughed from being caught so off guard. “I gotta think about that one,” he admitted. Then, it turned out, he didn’t need to think it over for long at all. “Actually, Kentucky Kaiju 3. The original cut. I’d change it so…you saw that one, right?”

“A long time ago,” Dibs admitted.

“You remember that subplot about the dragon man sidekick kidnapping the heroine, but then they actually became friends, and it almost looked like they could’ve been fallin’ in love until the handsome hero showed up and stabbed the dragon guy in the heart? And the woman just thanked him for it, like she hadn’t gotten close to understandin’ the monster? I’d change that part. Make it so she ended up with the monster, not the poster boy.”

“Interesting!” Dibs commented. “Why that change in particular?”

Carl smirked mischievously. “That’s a second question. You can ask me that on your next turn. Now it’s mine.” He thought it over. “What’s your favorite color?”

Dibs blinked at him. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“THAT’S what you wanna know?”

“Yeah. I don’t know, and I wanna.”

“Purple,” Dibs answered. “BRIGHT purple. That wasn’t obvious? I mean, you did just see the underwear.”

Carl was sure Dibs could see him blushing fiercely from that little reminder. (Not to mention his legs were still bare, stretched out on the couch, and Carl was making a conscious effort to ignore them.) He let Dibs write it off as general embarrassment. “You’re right. Shoulda been obvious. Okay. Your turn.”

“Let’s see.” Dibs thought it over. “If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, then what would it be?”

Carl had expected him to follow up on Kentucky Kaiju 3. Apparently he’d forgotten. This question, however, struck him as going deeper than Dibs suspected. “Depends,” he admitted. “Guess if I was really goin’ for the one thing I’d never get sick of, it’d be miso. But I think what you really meant was what my favorite was, and that ain’t it. The actual best thing I’ve ever eaten is the empanadas de pino Papá used to make. I dunno, he and Mamá used to serve actual traditional food all the time, and…well, I gave up on it ‘cause it reminded me of how we’d always use to eat as a family. Papá, Mamá, and my brother, Claudio.”

“Carl and Claudio Castellanos?” Dibs realized. “Your parents really had a thing for alliteration.”

“So do you, Dibs Daczewitz,” Carl teased. “Anyway, after the family got broken up…couldn’t stand to be reminded. Went after my own identity. Things that were just mine. My dad, Papá, he’s the only one I still talk to, and…I know it hurts him too. Wish I knew how to make things – but that’s gettin’ way, way past what you asked.”

“Um.” Dibs thought about how to form his question. “You usually don’t share things like that. You know, we don’t HAVE to play this – “

“Dibs,” Carl replied, “this is an opportunity for you. You can ask me whatever you want, and I gotta answer. I’m lettin’ you. If it were really that secret, I’d just quit the game. I just thought maybe, if there was anythin’ you wanted to know, well, it’s time, maybe.”

“Oh,” Dibs replied, taken aback. He didn’t just want to immediately plunge Carl into somber old memories, but he did appreciate the threshold Carl had just indicated they’d crossed. “Well, it’s your turn anyway.”

“’Kay.” Carl thought it over. “Say you had to pick a favorite flavor of ice cream. Just one.”

“Carl, don’t. That’s mean.”

“I’m a bad guy, Dibs. Of course it’s mean.”

Dibs whined before thinking it through solidly. “Maybe…chocolate? Okay, yeah, chocolate. It’s the cornerstone of most of my other favorite combinations, so I can’t lose it.” Now he could dig into his new opportunity, but he wanted to start slow. “For my turn…do you speak any Spanish?”

Carl legitimately grinned. What he said in response was “My father taught me his mother tongue when I was only a child, and I’ve been fluent in it ever since. I may not get a chance to use it that often, but I don’t ever let myself get rusty. Does this answer your question?”  
However, he said it in perfect Spanish.

Even though Dibs had no idea what he’d just been told, he had his answer, all right. “That…is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Reverting back to the language Dibs would understand: “Okay, you KNOW that’s an exaggeration.”

“It’s up there!” Dibs argued. “It’s gotta come in REALLY handy.”

“…It really doesn’t.”

“Well, it’s still cool,” Dibs said decisively. “Okay. Your turn.”

“Your favorite part of the city.” Carl had that one ready to go right off the bat.

“This is gonna sound weird,” Dibs told him, “but it’s not even technically in the city. It’s the cliffs over the bay. I used to go up there all the time when I was a teenager and depressed and working things out. I went up there a lot while you were in jail, too.”

The horrified look on Carl’s face alerted him to some misstep he hadn’t noticed. “Is…that bad?”

“Please tell me…” Carl said slowly. “You weren’t thinkin’ about…”

Then it hit Dibs. “JUMPING? No! No, no, no, that isn’t it! No, I went up there because the way the waves sound, and the way they look, and the way nobody ever goes there because they’re all too busy down on the beach…it was just…calming. And looking out at that bay, well, it reminded me that there are things bigger than me. I should take you there sometime. Show you!”

“Think hard about it,” Carl cautioned him. “If it’s your special place to go alone, maybe you don’t want me there.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you there?”

“’Cause some things, a person’s gotta keep to themselves,” Carl answered. “Case we fall out or somethin’. My memory’ll stink up the place.”

“I’m okay risking that,” Dibs told him. “And before you can argue, it’s my turn.”

“All right.”

Dibs prepared himself for this one with a deep breath. He knew he’d been given permission, even encouraged, but all the same, this felt wrong, forbidden. “What happened between you and Yama?”

“Knew that’d have to come out in the wash eventually,” Carl replied without missing a beat. “My family, we were all criminals. Mamá and Papá taught me how to pick a pocket when I was a kid. Not that they made me. They always made sure I knew I had an out if I didn’t wanna. But me and Claudio, we took to it like ducks to whatever it is ducks do. Mamá even started callin’ me ‘Petty Crime Carl’ as a joke, and, well, you saw where that went. We all had basically the same standards. Keep it clean, keep it casual, be selfish but don’t get anybody seriously hurt. And, whenever possible, eat the rich. …Not literally. I don’t condone cannibalism. Anyway, we were up-and-comers on the circuit. So was Yama.

“Wasn’t long before we butted heads. Got in a turf war. Well, more like Yama tried to tell us where we weren’t allowed to do business. Not like we had a flag in it, but Mamá wouldn’t stand for it. So she crossed the line. Yama wasn’t too happy about that. The first assassin he sent, we got lucky. I was there. Papá had just taught me how to shoot a gun, and he told me what I told you: you don’t draw unless you’re gonna fire. So once I had it out, I fired. That…changed me. Can’t really explain how. Just know I’d be different, somehow, if I’d never had to. But it was worth it, ‘cause I saved Mamá. …The first time.” A long pause. “The second one got her. It was the only warning we needed. Yama got his turf. She was a good woman, Dibs. I still miss her.”

Dibs’ fingers lightly brushed against Carl’s arm. “I’m…sorry.”

“Don’t be. Nothin’ you had to do with it.”

“I know, I just…that had to be horrible. I can’t even imagine. You really had to go through that.”

Carl shrugged; Dibs withdrew his hand. “What’s done is done,” Carl resolved. “Includin’ my answer. My turn now.”

“All right. Hit me.”

“D’you think I’m worse off for knowin’ you?”

Dibs gave a start at that. “Where’d THAT come from?”

“Call it a feeling,” Carl told him. “You can opt out. But I really wanna know.”

Dibs stared at him tentatively before squeaking out, “Yes.”

“You know it ain’t true.”

“What I KNOW is that you’ve had to babysit the worst thief in San Fransokyo for months, go to JAIL over me wanting a popcorn popper, remind me how to breathe because I couldn’t hear a gunshot without freaking out, and stitch my whole leg back together! I don’t even give anything back to you!”

“Not true,” Carl argued. “First of all, you give me a lot. This game, for instance. Wouldn’t’ve thought of it. Would’ve just stayed in the silence. This is actually both entertaining and cathartic.”

“Sure,” Dibs sighed, “because playing a question game makes up for all the rest.”

“The other thing,” Carl stated, “is that you gotta think my life was that great before you. My life’s always terrible, Dibs. At least now I have someone besides Papá to share it with. Even if that means putting in a bit more effort. And you make me think it’s not so bad after all. By sendin’ me pictures of the sun comin’ up and all that little stuff.” A short pause. “I do wanna see your cliffs. Might be just what I need.”

“I’m taking you,” Dibs vowed. “That’s a promise.”

“Anyway, I’m better off ‘cause of you, and you better believe me this time. End of turn. Now you ask me.”

Dibs knew what had to come next. “You said your dad is the only person left you talk to. Did something happen to your brother?”

“He ain’t dead, if that’s what you’re askin’,” Carl replied. “But after Mamá went, he started takin’ up narcotics. The hard stuff. Basically might as well’ve died. He’s messed up to the point where you can’t talk to him anymore. Last time I tried, got a whole table thrown at me. He’s been in and out of rehab. Never works. That’s why I’ve never touched anything harder than pot. I don’t wanna end up like him. Or hook anyone else, which is why I don’t even show you the marijuana. Papá can’t get to him either. My dad and me…we’re all each other’s got left of the family. Maybe I should introduce you to him one day.”

“I’d love that,” Dibs said with a smile – and it quickly faded to a frown. “I’m just not sure he’d love me.”

“He’s gotta. I’d tell him you and I are a package deal. Then he knows he ain’t gettin’ rid of you. Oh, and, uh, he ain’t that old-fashioned. Completely cool when I came out, and I know if you wanted to let him know about you, he’d be okay with it.”

“Then I do wanna meet him!” Dibs said excitedly. “So I’ve been asking you all about your life and background. You can ask me about mine if you want.”

Carl nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind. ‘Specially since it’s my turn.”

Dibs steeled himself for what must be coming.

“Truth, Dibs. Do you WANT me to know about your background just yet? And be honest.”

With a sigh, Dibs admitted, “No. I don’t. But I just thought it was fair since you were telling me – “

“I don’t keep tabs like that.”

The implication hung unspoken in the air. Carl’s family was broken, but at least they had loved each other as much as they could. Dibs had been thrown out, rejected. There wasn’t much to tell that could even start out as relatively fond.

“I guess it’s my turn,” Dibs said somberly. “I need to think about how to phrase this.”

“Take your time.”

He figured out the words. “Carl, is there anything I can do for you? You’ve been through a LOT. I guess I didn’t realize how much hurt you’d gone through. I wanna help.”

“I told you. I ain’t keepin’ tabs.”

“It’s not about owing you this time,” Dibs insisted. “It’s about you being my friend and me not wanting you to be hurt.”

The smile he received from Carl in return was stunningly heartfelt. “Believe me, I know the feelin’. But no, there’s nothin’ you can do. I’m glad you asked, though. Tell you what. That answer wasn’t good, so you get a freebie on this turn. You can ask me another question.”

Dibs could hardly stand feeling so useless while staring at his friend right in the broken heart. Yet he knew the best route forward was the route of levity. “I never asked you why you wanted to change Kaiju 3. Why does the monster matter so much to you?”

“I meant it when I said I’m comfortable with who I am,” Carl told Dibs. “No real body image issues or nothin’. But when I was a littler kid, classmates always used to pick on me for bein’ the big guy in class. Called me the big ugly monster.”

“That’s MEAN!” Dibs blurted.

“Well, kids’re mean,” Carl said with a light shrug. “Can’t say I blame ‘em. We were all conditioned societally to make fun of each other over manufactured beauty standards. But back then, it really did hurt. Ever since then, kinda had this thing about ‘monsters.’ Always felt they deserved to be happy, too. I know I ain’t no poster boy, either.”

Dibs had to almost literally bite his tongue to keep from launching into a rant about how he couldn’t believe people, Carl included, didn’t see just how beautiful Carl was. He must’ve always had those soft eyes, that face with contours that had etched into Dibs’ memory. The scar even did him more favors than anything. And being held by those arms was the literal best thing Dibs could think of (well, all right, it was in a close race with triple chocolate fudge ice cream with whipped cream on top). Yet these were things he couldn’t say. Not to someone who was just a friend. It might make Carl repulsed, realizing he’d been so physically intimate with someone who felt that way about him. It might make him feel like Dibs just wanted to be around him out of some desire to stalk him for lust, which was the furthest thing from the case.

Without even waiting for Dibs to make a comment or judging him for lacking one, Carl asked his next question, which, truth be told, did have somewhat of a hidden agenda: “You think you’d ever date a monster?”

“It depends on the monster,” Dibs replied. “I mean, I’m not gonna go out with someone who wants to eat me or destroy the city. But if he was a nice monster, then yeah. What about you? Would you date a monster?”

“In a heartbeat.”

The game continued into the night until at last, Dibs felt that his weariness might just outweigh the shooting pains in his wound. “Okay, I’m tired out,” he admitted.

“Let’s get that bandage changed before you get settled,” Carl suggested.

If Carl found it flustering to be in such proximity to Dibs’ bare leg, Dibs was mortified in a way he wished he didn’t enjoy. Carl just handled his thigh so gently, with those rough yet agile hands, and Dibs really had to curb his thoughts before they went anywhere lewd.

A fresh bandage was wrapped. “You gonna be okay out here?” Carl asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dibs replied. “I sleep here every night.”

Carl raised a brow at him. “Truth or Truth. You wanna be alone in this room?”

“…No,” Dibs admitted sheepishly. “But it’s fine. There’s nowhere else to sleep – “

“Floor’s fine.”

“Carl, NO.”

“Trust me,” Carl said with a wink, “I’ve slept on worse.”

Dibs didn’t bother protesting. He just let Carl seek out enough bedding for the both of them – a soft blanket to throw over Dibs and what looked like a less soft blanket to pair with a puffy pillow right there on the floor.

“Night, Dibs,” Carl muttered before passing out there on the floor.

So he really was comfortable there, Dibs thought with surprise. It was a comfort to have him nearby, even if unconscious. If it hadn’t been for him…what would have become of Dibs if not for Carl?

It wasn’t fair, though. Carl kept sacrificing so much, and Dibs repaid him with silly games and landscape photos that didn’t even look that great on a cell phone screen. If he weren’t so clumsy, so weak, then their relationship might be more equal. Then Carl might actually get what he deserved out of their partnership.

“One of these days,” Dibs muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna be the one who protects you. I’ll do it. Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, like many a hurt/comfort fanfic, was created with rather basic research and has not been verified by a medical professional. Please don’t use it as a how-to.


	6. Transformation

However, the next day when something happened, it definitely wasn’t the day when Dibs wasn’t in need.

He was, in fact, in the biggest trouble of his life. How had it all gone so foul? The morning had started out wonderfully. He and Carl had gotten into a playful riff, attempting to one-up each other with mutually understood insults. (Dibs had even, on the spur of the moment, flirted with a woman in front of Carl to see if he’d get jealous before remembering that he’d explicitly told Carl he wasn’t into women. He never was good at improv.) He’d carried that energy with him through the rest of the day, making off with a purse into an abandoned warehouse, where it seemed he’d stumbled into the heist of his lifetime. Billions. Krei’s billions.

It was supposed to be an ordinary purse, an ordinary warehouse, an ordinary billion-dollar telepathy-controlled remote control device. (All right, maybe not so much that last one.) It wasn’t supposed to have ended like this. Right now, Dibs almost thought it would be better to be pursued by one of Yama’s assassins.

He had been trying to ring Carl’s doorbell for the past two hours. Yet there he stood in the dead of night, and whenever he reached out, the thing that now passed for his hand would just hit the bell with a wet slap, failing to depress it. He’d tried knocking, too. All that had achieved was more quiet slaps, sticking himself to the door multiple times and having him waste up to ten minutes trying to unstick.

He’d been eaten up, dissolved, replaced. No body anymore. Not human. Most likely never would be again. How was a person supposed to accept that over the course of a night? He was practically stewing in himself, just a large, vaguely human-shaped puddle of glop. It took all his effort to remain upright and keep his four-limbed shape – the best he could do, trying to work with whatever Krei’s device was. He knew it was keeping his body controlled. He was also pretty sure it had been dissolved and mixed into his DNA, which was gross at the very least.

After unsticking himself from the door for the umpteenth time, he decided to give up. Not only because he wasn’t making any sound of note, but because he wasn’t sure he even wanted to face Carl now. How was he supposed to explain this?

“This can’t be permanent,” he muttered. “Maybe…maybe if I go looking for answers, I can find help! It’s a big city, right? And full of scientists! Somebody’s gotta know how to change me back! I can act like this never happened!”

As the sun began to crest on the horizon, he set out, trying to keep in good cheer out of sheer survival instinct. If he let himself give in to the fear, to the grief that permeated his new mass, well, then it was basically all over.

He didn’t find help. He found Big Hero 6, which was probably the worst possible outcome. And not before starting a mass panic in the city, either. It had one upside, however. The people who panicked and ran, the heroes who mocked him and called him “it,” the young woman who’d gotten angry at him over her friend’s purse, the way the one called him “Globby” (of all the uncreative things, “Globby”!) and everyone else had taken to it immediately – it had all served to make Dibs good and annoyed, and he couldn’t be annoyed and anxious at the same time.

The bus that rammed into him and propelled him halfway across the city gave him another diversion to think about. Like an ice pack in the hand.

It did set him back a while, though. He resumed his search through the city, and wherever he went, people ran, screaming bloody murder. He kept his cool, yelling comebacks at them: “Oh, like you’ve never seen a purple guy before!” “You’re just JEALOUS, that’s what it is!”

He might just make it through this if he could figure out how to keep up a steady walk cycle without occasionally gluing himself to the ground.

Making his way down a side street that led back to the so-called Bad Neighborhood, he heard the all-too-familiar voice from a good distance. He would’ve said his heart caught in his throat, but as far as he knew, he didn’t have either of those things anymore. He did stop walking, apprehensive about what would happen next.

“ – I dunno, I don’t think we should be so quick to judge,” Carl was saying to someone. “Monsters have as much right to live here as the rest of us.”

“And how do you feel about the monster’s name?” Now, that was Bluff Dunder. Bluff Dunder was interviewing Carl about the “monster.” Probably broadcast live. Dibs shuddered.

“Globby’s short; it’s accurate,” Carl replied. “I feel it’s apt.”

Well, now Dibs was just annoyed again.

“Thank you again,” Bluff said, “Mr…what was your name?”

“Felony Carl.”

“…Yes. Good. Now let’s see what others on the street have to say about the incident.”

Dibs waited it out, fuming, until he’d seen Bluff and his crew move down the block and around the corner. Then he stormed out – or attempted to. More like took three hard steps, found his foot glued to the ground again, and spilled right onto the street with an “OW!”

Carl, hearing the disturbance, turned to look behind him. It was now just the two of them, no news anchors around to stir the pot, and Dibs braced himself, just like he’d done when he’d first met Carl.

“So you’re Globby,” Carl said with a smile. “Welcome to San Fransokyo. It ain’t perfect, but it’s home.”

Dibs didn’t stand up so much as geysering into a column that reformed into a human shape. “Globby? GLOBBY? REALLY? YOU TOO?”

“Like I said,” Carl replied, “it’s apt. So. What brings you around here? See the sights yet?”

“CARL!” Dibs’ voice cracked, which he didn’t think possible without a voice box. “It’s me! It’s…I’m…don’t you…?”

Oh, no. Now he was starting to lose it.

Realization washed over Carl all at once, and he gaped in disbelief. “…Dibs?”

“Yeah,” Dibs replied. Then, with a nervous laugh; “So, funny story. Remember how I told you my favorite color was purple? Well, good news for me…”

“What happened?” Carl asked, gobsmacked.

“Oh, you know.” Dibs was gesturing again, though faster, more erratic, and spraying little drops of violet muck everywhere. “I totally stole this purse yesterday, and I was GOING to show it to you to prove that I WASN’T a bad thief, and I took it to the warehouse on East to count the spoils, but that turned out to be a secret KREI facility, and isn’t it just so weird how it always comes back to Krei? Anyway, he built a total ripoff of the mind control thing from that microbot incident, you know, the one with the professor? And then…some things happened, and…and the purse exploded on it while I was wearing the thing and – “

His façade exploded. “ – and it ate me, Carl, it ATE me, and it hurt worse than the stitches in my leg, and there isn’t even anything LEFT of me, I’m THIS, and I tried to come back to your place last night but I couldn’t even knock on the door, and I can barely control myself and I’m sticking to everything and I don’t have a human body anymore and I think this is permanent and nobody can look at me without freaking out anymore and – “ He quivered all over, like a bowl of gelatin that had been nudged forcefully. “And I’m s-scared – “

All at once, he was caught up in those familiar arms again. Just in time, because given his physical instability, Dibs was certain he’d have collapsed to the ground in a puddle in less than two seconds. He wrapped the strands of goo that passed for his arms around Carl in desperation, hoping that at least in this case, he had one place in the whole city he could go in order to not be feared or panicked over.

“I wouldn’t’ve said anything if I’d known,” Carl said softly, pressing Dibs close, and perhaps the worst part of it was that it was like Dibs’ sense of touch had been muffled the way one’s hearing might – he could feel the pressure, he had the gist of the sensation, but it wasn’t as warm as Carl’s hugs usually were. Well, that figured. Dibs didn’t have skin now.

Carl continued, “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here for you. You know I am. I’m gonna help you get through this.”

“I don’t think there is a ‘through this’!” Dibs broke down. “I think I’m just…THIS! Forever!”

“Then we’ll figure out how to live with that,” Carl promised. “But maybe it ain’t like that. Can’t give up hope yet. Just tell me what I gotta do for you, and I’ll do it.”

The cherry on top. Yet again, Dibs was in trouble, and he was about to ask Carl to jump through any number of hoops to help him out. For now, though, there was only one thing he wanted: “Please don’t let go.”

“I’m not gonna. I gotcha.”

They remained that way for a while before Dibs offered up, “I think…I wanna talk about this somewhere I can be more distracted.”

“Joe’s?” Carl suggested.

“I can’t go into a public restaurant!” Dibs protested. “Have you SEEN how people have been reacting to me all day?”

“That’s their problem. Not yours. Now be honest. You wanna go?”

“Yeeeeeesssss,” Dibs moaned. “I don’t even know if I can eat food anymore, I just…I just wanna act like things are still normal.”

“We can do normal.”

Carl made to let go of Dibs then, only to find that he couldn’t. Any attempt at removal of his arms only snapped them back to where they were glued. “Uh, Dibs? I’m kinda…stuck to you.”

“DARN IT!” Dibs hissed. “Sorry. Hang on. I’ve been working this out all day. There’s a way to unstick from things. I just need a minute to figure it out…”

“No pressure,” Carl told him. “Kinda wanna try somethin’.”

He’d had to lean downward a bit to match Dibs’ height when he’d embraced him to offer him comfort. Now he straightened up to his full height, and Dibs’ sticky feet were pulled right up off the street.

“Oh, sure, I can unstick from the PAVEMENT just fine,” Dibs grumbled.

“You work on it, and I’ll walk,” Carl said as he set off down the sidewalk, Dibs still wrapped around him. “Also, I wanna know more about this purse.”

Dibs was silent a while, and Carl wasn’t quite sure how to snap him back to a better state. Then he recalled the way they’d been competing with each other the morning prior. Well, this could either make things better or worse. “By the way. THIS is the worst crime you ever pulled. Least when you were starting out, you never accidentally mutated yourself into a pile of glue.”

“HEY!” Dibs cried with such fervor that Carl knew his strategy had worked. “It wasn’t my fault, you know! How was I supposed to know that purse was full of – wait a minute, did you just insult me to snap me out of it?”

“I insulted you because you’re terrible at your job.”

“Carl, did you learn that from me?” Dibs said with a beam; to punctuate the moment, he’d finally gotten one of his arms free, waving it out to the side so it wouldn’t re-stick. “Did you FINALLY figure out how to lighten the mood in social situations?”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” Carl responded. “Not like you were that good at it.”

“Oh, please. I’m the life of the party. You’re just a party POOPER.”

“Real mature.”

It was honestly the best thing either of them could have done. The harsh-sounding words were fun, and an indication that this wasn’t necessarily the end of the world.

So then Dibs began telling the story from the top, with more detail. Before Carl could admonish him about trying to sabotage Krei again, they’d crossed the threshold of Joe’s, and literally everyone in the building took one look at them and made for the exit in a mass panic.

As Dibs and Carl found themselves seemingly the only people in the restaurant, Dibs finally fell free of Carl, thudding onto the floor in a half-quadrupedal shape. “HA! I DID IT!”

“I’m gonna take this opportunity to get a scone from the pastry case without payin’,” Carl said as he headed that direction. “You want anything?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

Well, that was a sign that Dibs hadn’t been completely brought out of his funk. He was never one to turn down a scone. Still, that was to be expected. He’d just lost his humanity, potentially permanently. Carl made a bet with himself that he could get Dibs to partake in his usual favorite scone by the end of the meal, and he called back, “Go hold our table.”

Dibs slid into the booth, wondering how easily he’d be able to pry himself off the seat after the fact. Carl returned in short order with a blueberry scone. “Purse story,” he demanded. “Now.”

“Okay. So. After I told you the glitter was a better look on you than jealousy, I saw an elderly woman sitting on a nearby bench. She was asleep and her purse was right there, so I decided, why not? Well, after a few…false starts…I grabbed the purse, then ran into a street sign, dropped the purse, woke her up, and lay there on the ground while she threw me a couple coins out of pity. Also, I almost got run over by a bus. So that’s when you rode past me and told me to give it up – “

Carl could already tell he was going to get the whole story, regardless of how relevant any of it was to the incident he’d asked about. He was strapped in for the ride, however.

“And THAT’S when I noticed the moving truck. We apparently have a new neighbor, by the way. One who left his purse out on the stack of boxes he was moving. Or maybe it belonged to the woman who was with him. No, wait, she already lived there. I’ve seen her before. Or did one of Big Hero 6 say – no, THAT was just my imagination. Anyway, it was a purse, it was on a stack of boxes, I went for it. Then, through NO FAULT OF MY OWN, it ended up on top of a moving car. In an INCREDIBLE show of dexterity, I actually caught up to the car, jumped on it, and got the purse back. Kind of a cute purse, actually. Orange with a little heart. So anyway – “

Dibs related the tale, and Carl noted he now wasn’t gesturing as much as he usually did, keeping his arms restrained now that he was inside an enclosed space. At last, he came to the conclusion: “And then I made a totally pre-planned escape by getting hit by a bus.” He leaned back, pressing his arms to the seat’s back casually.

“Yeah, that’s smooth,” Carl said sarcastically. When, really, he meant all of it. His heart went out to Dibs, it truly did, but sometimes he had to accept that his best friend was just ridiculous.

And he had a crush on this absolutely ridiculous person. That was a sobering realization. He had a crush on a man who claimed getting hit by a bus was part of his plan.

“So, things are going pretty great,” Dibs went on, not as convincingly as he could have made it sound. “Ah, but the one little hiccup is I can’t really control my mutated body.”

Behind him, the last few of the waitstaff who’d been hiding out in the kitchen made their escape.

“Here,” Dibs demonstrated. “Watch me try to grab that spoon.”

He overshot the spoon by several yards, his arm breaking through the window and reeling in a cat. The cat proceeded to leap on Dibs’ face and show him exactly how angry it felt about being grabbed off the street.

Actually, Carl thought as he watched this, he’d seen that cat around before, pretty sure it was a stray that roamed the neighborhood. It was, all considered, an adorable cat.

“Nice kitty!” Dibs yelled, prying the cat away from his face. “NICE KITTY!” The nice thing was that the muffled sense of touch also meant the scratches hurt a lot less. The less nice thing was that they still did actually hurt.

Carl reached forward and casually took the cat by the scruff, holding it up next to him as he declared, “You’re even worse at being a monster than you were a thief.” The cat’s smug expression seemed to agree.

Dibs gave him a frustrated pout, a brow furrowing out of the upper section of his head. That was when Carl noted the flashing lights going off in a ring. “What’s that thing with the blinkin’ lights where your forehead should be?” He had given the cat a spot on his seat, stroking it lovingly. Secondary concerns: whether this cat had an owner and whether Carl should become that owner. If Dibs were at all okay with living with the cat who’d tried to eat his face.

“Oh, that?” Dibs sighed. “It’s a billion-dollar invention that’s supposed to control stuff.”

“Could it control your amorphous and yet still-repulsive body?” Carl asked. All right, he thought to himself, that one might have gone a little bit too far. And possibly been inspired by his need to have Dibs not catch on whatsoever to how he’d thought of him.

Yet Dibs took it in stride; all a part of their little game. He simply replied, “Maybe.” A shrug. “I don’t know how it works.” He rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the table.

Then he saw it. Behind Carl and out the window, a bus with an advertisement for the Krei-book laptop, the face of a certain blond billionaire plastered on it. Almost mocking Dibs.

“But HE does…” Dibs realized, lifting his hand away to point at the bus advertisement. Well, it wasn’t quite that simple. Some of his “hand” had detached to assimilate into his head, and now what he was using to point was different material than before, redistributed to keep its shape. It was really just much easier to think about his body in terms of how it would look in human parts.

Carl hadn’t even noticed because he’d been playing with the cat. Was this the worst possible time to be distracted by a cat? Yes. Was it not his fault, given that cats are inherently distracting? Also true. “Cool,” he said. Then, taking advantage of Dibs’ improved mood; “Wanna split a scone?”

“You KNOW I would,” Dibs replied. “…Except I’m still not sure whether or not I can actually eat food.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Carl hadn’t touched his scone the whole time, hoping it would come to this. He tore it in half with one hand, the other still occupied with the cat. Then he passed half over to Dibs, who put it into his makeshift mouth and swallowed in one gulp. It dissolved within him.

“Looks like it worked,” Carl observed.

“Yeah, but it’s weird,” Dibs replied. “This whole time, I’ve felt like things don’t quite feel the way they should. There’s less pain, which is good. But also, I keep forgetting I’m sitting on a chair right now. I can tell it’s there if I think about it, but it’s not second nature. Tasting things is kind of the same way. That didn’t taste half as strong as it should have.”

“I mean, it is a scone. They traditionally aren’t as sweet as other pastries.”

“You have a point, but you underestimate my intimate knowledge of scones. The weirdest part is that…I don’t really have a tongue anymore, so tasting something happens in…all of me. Can you imagine tasting food with your knees? Because I just tasted that scone in my knees. And everywhere else.”

“Least you don’t have to give up ice cream this way,” Carl told him.

“You know,” Dibs mused, “this might not actually be horrible. I mean, there are SOME benefits. You know, like not having any defined human features anymore.”

“…Gonna be honest, I don’t see how that’s a plus.”

“It means I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING THAT MIGHT SEEM LIKE A CONTRADICTION TO MY GENDER IDENTITY,” Dibs asserted.

“Oh,” Carl realized. “That’s a good point.”

Dibs smiled widely then. “I’m a whole new man now! And no one’s gonna question it! And, I mean, I already transitioned once before, right? I can do it again! This is old hat for me!”

Carl’s smile was wider than usual. Seeing Dibs this upbeat after such a potentially traumatic experience was infectious. (Also, there was a cat.)

“Just…kinda seems like maybe I need a new name to go with it,” Dibs wondered out loud. “That’s just…part of it, you know?”

“I mean, there’s an obvious choice on the table,” Carl pointed out, “but you probably don’t like it.”

Dibs pondered it a moment. “Actually…’Globby’ isn’t half bad. I thought it sounded insulting when the kaiju man said it, but, well, now that I know YOU like it – I mean I like it for myself! It’s all me in that decision! Nothing to do with you! So…what do you think? Can I pull it off being Globby from now on?”

“I think that’s your choice,” Carl told him. “You’re the one who’s gonna be livin’ with it.”

“Oh, gee, maybe somebody should’ve thought about that before NAMING ME ON LIVE TELEVISION.”

Now Carl was actually laughing, trying to keep it quiet. “Look. I still think it’s apt.”

“Then it’s settled!” the man who was now Globby decided. “From now on, I’m Globby!” His smile widened all the more, taking advantage of the fact that it didn’t have physical human limitations. “Yeah! I’m Globby! This feels RIGHT!”

“Then you’re Globby,” Carl agreed. “Apologies in advance if I call you the wrong name by accident.”

“Nah, we’re cool. …You REALLY like that cat.”

“Scale of one to ten: how mad would you be if I brought her home?”

“Awww, she’s a her?” Globby replied, voice softening. “Thought of a name?”

“Not yet. I already helped name one important thing today. I gotta have a breather before the next.”

Globby folded his arms and scowled at that.

“What?” Carl asked. “Thought you’d appreciate that one.”

“THING?”

“…Oh.” Carl realized it. “I meant it in the general sense, but yeah, now I see how that didn’t sound great. My apologies. I helped name one important living being.”

“That’s better.” Globby then stared at Carl pensively.

“What now?”

“When you said I was ‘repulsive,’ that was just you playing, right? You don’t really think I…you know…I’m gross now?”

“Definitely playing,” Carl confirmed. “Listen. You know me. Kaiju 3. This changes very little.”

“People…aren’t gonna get it,” Globby said meekly. “I’m finally getting used to the idea, but…I can’t go anywhere without making a scene. And they all say I’m gross. Can I be weird here?”

“You’re always weird, Globs. But do it anyway.”

“It’s just – GLOBS?” Globby’s jaw dropped.

“Sorry,” Carl muttered. He’d accidentally combined the names “Globby” and “Dibs” in his head, and that had come out.

Before he could clarify his apology, Globby gave him a shaky smile. “Did you just give me a nickname based on my new name? That’s so cute!”

Cute name for a cute person, Carl thought. (The cat was now kneading his stomach with its paws.) “Glad you like it. Anyway, you were gonna be weird.”

“When you hugged me right away,” Globby confessed, “it felt so good. I mean…not in the usual way. Not that it didn’t! But you know…the way things feel now. I couldn’t feel you as much as usual. But what was important was that after everyone pointing at me and complaining about me and calling me a monster, you weren’t afraid to touch me at all. I’D be afraid to touch me. I don’t know what’s all in here!”

“You’re my pal,” Carl reiterated. “You needed a hug. I always know when you do. Not much more complicated than that.”

“Thanks, Carl,” Globby told him. “It really means – “

Then he scowled again. “WAIT A MINUTE.”

“What?”

“Kaiju 3? The monster romance plot? When you were ‘welcoming’ me to the neighborhood, were you trying to HIT ON ME?”

Now Carl really couldn’t keep the laughter back. “I didn’t know it was you!”

“CARL!”

Actually, this was a good point. Carl had just been thinking about this. This might be just the test he needed to define his particular feelings. Now, Globby didn’t look anything like the Dibs he knew. If he continued to feel the way he did, then he would know it was about more than just a surface admiration of his physical assets. Maybe he would even have reason to tell him the truth about it, if time tested it properly.

Then again, Globby didn’t seem to be too keen on Carl hitting on him.

(Globby had almost hoped Carl would say something along the lines of still wanting to hit on him.)

“Want another scone?” Carl offered. “Nobody’s chargin’.”

“You know what? I think I will!”

Globby attempted to stand up – and rubber-banded straight back down into the seat he was now stuck to. “Darn it…”

“I got it.” Carl rose, gently setting the cat aside. “Hold my place,” he told the cat. To Globby: “The double chocolate one? I know that’s your fave.”

“Yeah,” Globby sighed, head in hand again, elbow on the table, frustrated that he now had to figure out how to unstick from the booth.

Though in the meantime, he had to figure out how to attack this Krei problem. It was going to be an interesting night in that regard.

* * *

Carl sat on the front step of the house, a soft graphite pencil etching over a paper pad in his hand, supported by his knees. His work was illuminated only by the soft porch light. The white cat had stayed with him all day, now nuzzling up to him, and every now and again, he would reach over from his drawing to give her a pet.

Globby dropped in from above, having slung there on his arms. “Whatcha drawin’?” he asked.

“Just some stuff,” Carl replied. “Ain’t very good.” He quickly flipped the page so that Globby wouldn’t see that it was a rather crude portrait of him on the paper. “Really outta practice.” He then looked up at Globby. “How was your night?”

It hit Globby then: he hadn’t made plans with Carl as to how to announce his return, and he’d mentioned having trouble with the doorbell and knocking. Carl had waited there for him. All night.

“Oh, you know,” Globby said casually. “Just…almost committed murder and decided to become a professional supervillain.”

Carl looked up at him with the exact expression one has upon hearing that.

“But, I mean, it makes sense, right?” Globby went on, beaming. “I have actual superpowers now! I’m BEYOND stealing purses! I can do REAL crime! Like robbing ATMs!”

“That ain’t exactly supervillain material,” Carl told him, “but you do you.”

“I just ran into Big Hero 6 while I was out on my little mission,” Globby went on, “and the tall girl said some stuff that really made me think. This is what makes me unique! I can do things nobody else can! I think she was going for me trying to use my powers for good, but what fun is THAT? This is finally what feels right, Carl! This is what I’ve been working up to ever since I was stealing people’s gel pens in school! Sidebar: you remember gel pens? I miss gel pens. But I finally have everything I need to be a REAL SUPERVILLAIN!”

“Proud of you,” Carl told him. “Looks like you’re finally outta my league. Just don’t forget about the little people on your way up, got it?”

“Of course!” Globby affirmed. “Like I could forget about you even if I wanted to.”

Carl put the sketchpad aside. “So who’d you try to kill?”

“Oh.” Globby could feel a change overcoming him, and he wasn’t sure entirely what it was until he looked down and noticed that his body was tinted more pink than purple now. Blushing. That was what this was. “It…wasn’t exactly self-defense. I just got kinda desperate.”

“What happened, Globs?”

“I, uh…” Globby shifted. “I might’ve…tried to off..Krrreeeeiiiii?”

Carl rested his forehead in his hand. “Globs. We promised to leave Krei alone.”

“He doesn’t know it was me!”

“That bein’ said, can’t say I blame you for wantin’ to bump him off, after everything. Not that I’m actively tellin’ you to. But I don’t blame you.”

“See, I knew you’d understand,” Globby said with a nod. “Also, I keep not realizing how COOL this body is. Did you see how I was swinging around the rooftops like some kind of…man-spider? I could talk about it for hours!”

Carl stood. “So come in and tell me about it.”

“…Isn’t it a little late at night for that?”

“Not really.” (It was.) “C’mon. I’ll get snacks out. Least this way, I don’t think I gotta worry about your blood sugar level anymore.”

“ANOTHER positive!”

The white cat followed her masters into the house, purring all the way.

* * *

The news clips of Globby fleeing the scene after the Krei assassination attempt replayed over and over on the gigantic monitor. Now, this was something you didn’t see often in San Fransokyo. You might have had your supervillains in augmented armor, like Supersonic Sue, or with mechanical advantages, like Baron von Steamer, but a full-body mutation like this, that could achieve so much and probably more than he even knew?

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“Who would’ve thought,” the watcher said in a singsong tone, “that out of the two of you, you’d be the one to truly interest me?”


	7. Other Friends

Globby watched the ice cream shop wistfully from the rooftop across the street, his legs swinging as they dangled over the edge. This was one of the biggest downsides of his new form – that, and learning to control his motor skills. However, the more pertinent priority was the fact that he’d already tried once to enter the shop and been chased out by several staff members wielding impromptu weapons.

Now he sighed, wishing he could just have even the smallest scoop of chocolate ice cream. He supposed, as a supervillain, he could just break in and take it menacingly, but then that would ruin his favorite ice cream shop, and a person had to draw lines.

“Pardon me, but I couldn’t help but notice your reverie.”

The voice had come from behind Globby, on the roof. How had someone else gotten up on the roof? And furthermore, why was this person addressing him like an ordinary human being?

He turned, facing the newcomer. What he beheld was a tall, slender man, dressed in a neat gray turtleneck sweater and black vest over black pants. His expertly coiffed dark hair bore a single streak of crimson; his long, high-cheekboned face held a bemused expression. For an instant, Globby almost thought he could see a tint of purple on the man’s face, though another moment’s observation and he was sure he’d been mistaken. Perhaps most strikingly, the man held out, with a stiff sort of grace, an ice cream cone, stacked with three scoops of chocolate.

“Hi!” Globby waved. “I’m Globby. But you probably knew that from the news. What brings you up here?”

“Call it a form of sympathy,” the stranger replied, “or at least, an observation of your misery. You can’t obtain one of these by normal means, can you? Before we go any further, do take it off my hands. It’s starting to melt.”

“For me?” Globby asked in awe. “Really?”

“I never was a fan of chocolate, believe me.”

Globby’s arm shot out, catching the cone and a bit of the stranger’s hand in the process. He reeled in the cone; the stranger’s hand didn’t stick for long, but just long enough that he was pulled off balance and toppled over as gracefully as one could.

“Sorry!” Globby cried.

“No,” the stranger tried to say calmly, though it still came off plenty miffed. “Don’t apologize.” He rose up fluidly, dusted himself off.

As Globby began to bite into the ice cream cone, finding that every scoop was a slightly different variation on the chocolate theme (with caramel, with peanut butter, with fudge), the man went on. “I’ve been keeping record of your talents and achievements, Globby. You’ve got quite a bit of potential…and yet your goals remain, shall we say, underwhelming.”

“Um…thanks?” Globby said, befuddled.

“Do take it as a compliment,” the man told him. “What I mean to say is that you are capable of so much more than you believe. I could help you achieve your full potential, if you’d like.”

“No offense, but that kind of sounds like stranger danger,” Globby admitted.

“Perhaps I am a stranger,” the man mused. “There have certainly been those who have thought of me as strange, after all. However, I would like you first and foremost to think of me as a potential employer, and of yourself as an independent contractor. What I want is to offer you a job. It will pay well, and if you should complete it…well, then you’ll have more than enough pay to not worry about rent for a year or more. As for the follow-up…well, why don’t we start out slowly and cross each bridge as we come to it?”

“You’re offering me a job?” Globby repeated. “I want a job! I wanna try these powers out for real! What do you want me to do?”

“A certain art piece interests me,” the man explained. “Have you heard of Lenore Shimamoto?”

“…No?”

“No, of course not. You never even entered higher education.”

“Wait, how did you know – “

The man waved his lithe hand. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that she is the artist behind a piece that I want, and am willing to pay handsomely for. Bring it to me, and we’ll see if we can’t make a real, honest supervillain out of you.” His smirk widened maliciously. “Perhaps one of the elites who deserves to be separated from the chaff.”

Globby had no idea what chaff was, but this sounded exciting. “Okay! I’ll do it! I just need to know the details. First of all, what’s your name, anyway?”

“You may call me Obake,” the man replied, eyes glittering.

* * *

The Joe’s Diner waitstaff had now gotten used to Globby, for the most part. They still maintained an arm’s-length distance from him, but at least now, they would take his order as they would for anyone else.

Carl awaited him there, at the usual seat, a little confused as to why Globby was late. He’d probably set his alarm for the wrong time again. All the same, he couldn’t feel as though there were some side to this that wasn’t pleasant. A gut feeling, more than anything.

The door burst open, and Globby rushed through as a green-eyed tidal wave. “CARL!” he cried, surging into his seat and taking a relatively humanoid shape there. “CarlCarlCarl! You’re not gonna BELIEVE THIIIIIS!”

“I routinely talk to a fully mutated slime monster,” Carl reminded him. “I’ve accepted that nothing’s impossible.”

“Another villain just hired me for a JOB!” Globby squeaked. “Actual art theft, from a real museum! It’s gonna be like a sequence in an action movie! And I get to play the villain! And he’s gonna PAY ME FOR IT!” He was shivering like disturbed gelatin again, but now with excitement rather than disquiet.

“Hey, nice!” Carl replied. “Who’s the guy?”

“His name is – “ Globby hesitated. “Well, actually, he told me not to tell anyone…”

Carl was used to anonymity in his circles. Still, he had to at least get one suspicion off his chest. “Globs. This better not be – “

“It’s not Yama. Believe me, I have LEARNED my lesson there.”

Carl nodded. “Proceed.”

“So the job,” Globby went on. “I’m going to be stealing a – oh, darn it, he didn’t want me to tell anyone what I was after, either! But I CAN tell you that it’s in the – no, wait, I can’t. Actually, can you pretend I never said the part about the museum? Or the art?”

Now Carl was starting to get suspicious. “Globs, not gonna lie, this is a little worrying. Now, this is just between you and me. If I promise it never leaves this table, can you tell me more about what you’re doin’?”

Globby fidgeted soundlessly for long enough that Carl eased up; “Okay. Not if you ain’t comfortable with it.”

“I just…really don’t wanna mess this up,” Globby confessed. “He just seems so cool and so on top of things and…and he’s a REAL VILLAIN, Carl. He can teach me stuff you can’t! Not that you’re a bad teacher or – “

“No, no. I get it.”

“I’ll probably be able to tell you more about it after the job,” Globby theorized. “This is just so exciting! I’m almost literally bouncing off the walls! Carl, if I start actually bouncing off the walls, please stop me.”

“I make no promises.”

“Sooooo, how’s your day been?”

“Not bad. Got a lotta compliments on the bike’s new finish. I think I like our new neighbor.”

They settled back into old, familiar discussion, punctuated by soufflé pancakes and miso.

* * *

“Sorry about…y’know…the globs.” 

In the dark of their secluded meeting place, Obake regarded the framed picture with interest. Globby hoped desperately for approval, for validation, for him to be told that he’d actually done something right in the eyes of someone who wasn’t obligated to say such things out of friendship.

“Hm,” Obake muttered. “Fascinating.”

Without warning, he reached over and seized Globby’s hand. This was far different than Carl’s impromptu hug, his lack of fear of touching Globby. This was something more invasive, demanding. Globby wondered if it was legitimate to even say he felt violated as Obake used a glowing tweezers to pinch off a piece of him, dropping it into a glass beaker.

Globby recoiled his hand; “RUDE!”

Obake now watched the purple goo undulate inside of its container, his eyes speaking of revelations he didn’t dare share. “Hmm. Further study might allot even more potential.”

“Potential, huh?” Globby repeated excitedly. “I told Mom she was wrong about me.”

“Lenore Shimamoto the artist was of no interest to me,” Obake declared as he suddenly whacked the framed picture against a table, breaking its frame. Globby didn’t like this for several reasons. For one, he’d worked hard for that. For another, it spoke to something incredibly frightening about Obake. He was so calm and collected on the exterior that when he moved, it was all the more intense, all the more unexpected. There was no promise he couldn’t suddenly break into an act of extreme violence, all with the same hard expression in his eyes.

“However,” he continued, “Lenore Shimamoto the SCIENTIST is of great interest.”

Globby looked over Obake’s shoulder at the paper he held.

“Like with so many things in life,” Obake mused softly, “you have to look below the surface to find real value.” He peeled back the art piece, revealing blueprints and calculations beneath. Well, that was unexpected, and Globby couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“When you say look below the surface to find value,” he ventured, “do you…mean me?”

“Hm?”

“Well, I failed a lot trying to get you this, but then I got it in the end, and you just said I had a lot of potential, so…am I like that? Do I have value?”

“Of course you do,” Obake said idly, not taking his eyes off the blueprint. “As a matter of fact, I’d like to offer you an extended contract in my employ. There’s a little more I’d like you to do for me. As with this case, you will be paid handsomely.”

“GREAT!” Globby squeaked. “Okay! When do I start?”

“Almost immediately.” Obake now rolled up the blueprint, which had been guarded from slime by the outer layer, and set it aside. “And by the way, if you’re going to work for me, I may as well outline some of the other benefits of the job. You did say you achieved this with great difficulty, yes?”

“Yeah,” Globby admitted. “I’m still getting used to how this body works.”

“Because Alistair Krei never taught you how to control it. Is that right?”

“…Yeah?”

“Consider,” Obake bade him. “Alistair Krei isn’t the only man who knows about neural transmitters. Nor is the original owner of the purse of your distress the only person in this city who has an idea of how chemical compounds function. I can teach you control. I can teach you competence. I can identify every molecule in your unusual flesh, down to the very last. I think you’ll find that after proper training, you can be so much greater than a mere petty thief.”

“Really?” Globby gasped. “That’s WONDERFUL! I can’t WAIT!”

He instinctively reached out to bring Obake into a hug; Obake quickly backpedaled, ensuring Globby’s arms locked around empty air.

“I do not hug,” Obake snapped.

“Okay, that one was my bad,” Globby admitted. “Different people have different personal boundaries. I’m just…really glad we can be friends.”

A silence. Then Obake said, “If that is what you wish to call it, I suppose I have no grounds to stop you. However, let me make this incredibly clear: I am nothing like any honorable thieves you may have known.”

“Right!” Globby gave him a crude thumbs-up. “I’m ready to respect whatever you tell me!”

Obake sniffed in derision. “Shall we focus on business?”

“I’m guessing you want me to do more stuff related to that.” Globby gestured to the blueprint.

A flash of…fear?...in Obake’s eyes. “Tell me, Globby, did you recognize the mechanism depicted within?”

“Um…no? Should I have?”

Obake relaxed. “No. I wouldn’t have expected you to. Merely a passing curiosity. All you need know is that the device holds a particular value to me. To that end, I would like you to acquire more items that would allow me to complete its construction. As well as a few other errands, of course. More goes into this than simple material, you see. The operation will be complex. Others will unite to our cause. Still more may only have use as pawns in our great game. See it through, and you shall receive untold reward.”

“And, uh…what exactly is the goal we get from all this?” Globby asked nervously.

“Nirvana,” Obake replied.

Globby shrugged. “Okay. So…what’s next?”

* * *

Obake gave him classes of sorts. Lessons in which he was taught how to manipulate the transmitter that had been enveloped into his being, how to walk without sticking to the floor, how to transform his chemical makeup into any number of variant substances.

These courses were often impromptu; Globby would receive a text or call and be expected immediately. Whenever it came, he rushed to answer. Learning from Obake made him feel as though he were achieving the next level of his career in villainy, and, more importantly than that, learning how to be comfortable in his own gel.

The problem was that he had already forgotten, twice in a row, that he’d already had a lunch meeting with Carl planned at the times Obake had designated for lessons.

The third time, Carl had waited for half an hour already. Twice he had been subjected to waiting, waiting, waiting until it became apparent that Globby was never going to show. And it hurt. They’d been friends, the closest of. He’d looked forward to every minute spent with Globby. Now it seemed like Globby was forgetting all about him, building up his hopes for another chance to bond and then leaving him to muse alone over a cup of coffee.

“If he don’t turn up this time,” he muttered, “I ain’t comin’ to the next one.”

Within the next ten minutes, Globby had entered the diner, panting as if out of breath. “CARL!” he yelled as he hurried toward their booth.

Carl had expected to feel relief, maybe even joy that Globby had finally shown up. Instead, he felt even more betrayed as Globby slid in across from him.

“You would not BELIEVE the day I’ve had today!” Globby babbled. “Okay, so my new boss, he’s bringing on other villains to the team, and they’re all so cool! I met his daughter today. She’s a robot! He BUILT her from scratch! Of course, this is all on the down-low. Top secret. But I’ve heard that next, that sushi chef with the knives may or may not be joining us, and – “

“Globs,” Carl interrupted. “We gotta talk about this.”

“We…do?” Globby repeated.

“You set me up,” Carl reminded him. “Twice.”

“What do you m – “ Globby then realized it. “Oh, yeahhhhh. My lessons. I forgot to tell you. That was…that was REALLY bad. I’m sorry.”

Carl wanted to say he was forgiven, but somehow, he felt it wasn’t that simple. “Look. I ain’t against you gettin’ new friends. It’s just that it’s startin’ to feel like you’re so excited about the new that you’re forgettin’ about the old. About me.”

“I could never FORGET about you!” Globby protested. “Well, I mean, except the two times I forgot to cancel our lunch date. Look. I’ll do better next time. When my boss calls, I’ll call you to let you know I can’t make it.”

“Why not tell him you can’t make it?” Carl suggested. “You’d’a made plans with me first.”

“Well…he has a tight schedule,” Globby said nervously. “He doesn’t really like it when people don’t stick to it. When he decides it’s lesson time, that’s about the only slot he has.”

“Globs…does he even know we’re pals?”

“Oh, yeah, I told him about you,” Globby insisted with a nod. “He…okay, this is gonna sound bad, but he kinda thinks you’re below our league. That’s his problem, though. I know you’re not.”

“Do you, Globs?”

Globby scowled. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Maybe,” Carl told him. “Or maybe I’m accusin’ your new best friend.”

“Jealousy still isn’t a good look for you, Carl. It’s only been twice. I think you can learn to share me.”

“Perhaps,” Carl replied, though now, his suspicion was rising. “I just wanna ask some questions about your new boss.”

“I might not be at liberty to answer some of them, you know.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Carl sighed. “What’s he been teachin’ you?”

“All sorts of useful things!” Globby gushed. “Like how to control my body, and how to make myself into weapons, and I can even shoot projectiles now! And he’s also teaching me a little bit about…” His fists balled in excitement. “Psychological manipulation! Now I can taunt my enemies, like Big Hero 6, and it will REALLY HURT!”

“Slippery slope, Globs,” Carl warned. “Why’d you need to hurt ‘em so bad in the first place? And what’re you gonna do with those weapons?”

“It’s all part of the boss’s plan,” Globby said, as though that were in any way reassuring.

“And what is that plan, exactly?”  
“Can’t tell you!” Globby teased. “Top secret. Hey, why haven’t you ordered anything? You’ve been here for half an hour.”

So Globby had known how late he’d been running, and couldn’t seem to bring himself to care. “It’s polite to wait for everyone invited to show up before gettin’ food,” Carl grunted. “But more importantly, why can’t you tell me the plan?”

“Because I can’t! This is criminal stuff! You know! No loose lips!”

“Is that the real reason?” Carl asked. “Or is it ‘cause you don’t know what the plan is?”

“Of COURSE I know what the plan is!” Globby said nervously. Then: “Okaaay, I don’t know what the plan is. All I know is that it’s really big and really cool.”

“Globs, you ain’t worried about this? Your new boss is puttin’ some big pieces on the board. This is leadin’ up to somethin’, and he ain’t even gonna tell you what it is. Like he knows you wouldn’t go through with it if you knew.”

“Obake would never do that!” Globby burst out. “…Darn it! I wasn’t supposed to say that!”

“That name means nothin’ to me,” Carl informed him. “Never heard it on the street. Never met a guy with it. Now focus. Why’d you trust him so much?”

“Because he’s teaching me how to actually be competent!” Globby protested. “He said so himself! I can protect myself now! Now, I don’t need you to come get me whenever I’m in trouble, or fix me up when I get hurt, or have to console me emotionally after whatever trauma…I can FINALLY stop being a burden on you! For once, I’m actually good at something!”

Carl flinched. “He actually used the word ‘competent’?”

“Is…that a problem?”

“Only ‘cause it means he don’t see you as worth anythin’ unless you can do stuff for him.”

“That’s wrong!” Globby argued. “Obake’s my friend! Why else would he be teaching me how to actually be in control and shapeshift into cool stuff?”

“I dunno,” Carl told him. “And I wouldn’t know unless I knew his plan. But I’m guessin’ that’s all it amounts to. The plan. The plan you don’t know nothin’ about.”

“Geez, Carl,” Globby scoffed, “it’s almost like you don’t WANT me to learn how to – “

Then he froze, staring at Carl in disbelief. “Wait a minute,” he said weakly. “Carl…you don’t actually want me to learn to take care of myself, do you?”

“What?” Carl was taken aback. “Where’d that come from?”

“All those times you said I wasn’t a burden,” Globby said softly. “You…you liked getting to play caretaker. You liked that I could never match you. Taking care of me made you feel strong and important. You just wanted me to get hurt so you could save the day!”

“Is he puttin’ that stuff in your head?” Carl seethed.

“No,” Globby argued. “I figured it out on my own, thank you very much. Because despite what you think, I’m not a COMPLETE idiot!”

“Globs, listen to me. You’re bein’ used. I’ve seen this. I’ve been around the block – “

“And it always comes back to THAT, doesn’t it?” Globby spat. “You’re the expert criminal! You know soooooo much more than me! Our entire friendship was built around you teaching me not to make an IDIOT of myself! When it turned out the most idiot thing I ever did was TRUSTING YOU!”

Carl slammed both hands on the table, rising to full height. Yet his tone remained low, collected: “Globs. This guy don’t care about you. You got free will. I can’t stop you from doin’ anything. That really wouldn’t be right. But I ain’t just gonna sit back and watch while you walk into a danger zone, either. Soon as this guy’s done with you…he’s gonna throw you out like the trash he thinks you are.”

“No, you mean the trash YOU think I am!” Globby rose up as well, extending his own form so he could look Carl in the eye. “And if you don’t wanna sit back and watch, well, then you can just…STAY OUT OF IT COMPLETELY! As in STOP TALKING TO ME! As in WE ARE NO LONGER FRIENDS AS OF THIS MINUTE!”

It hurt to even say. Yet Globby suddenly felt so demeaned. He’d thought the world of Carl, and now Carl couldn’t even support him being successful. Even being marginal. He’d been such a fool, all this time, to think Carl ever actually cared about helping him succeed.

It hurt to even hear. Carl had figured out by then that his feelings had persisted. No matter what shape Globby took, he was still the same soul that Carl had treasured for a long time, maybe even loved since the day he was found in his basement. But it wasn’t just that Globby was cutting himself off from Carl. It was that he knew, without question, that Globby was going to get hurt this way, physically or emotionally, and he was for once powerless to protect him. He tried one last appeal: “Globs – “

“DON’T ‘GLOBS’ ME!” Globby spat. “LET ME GUESS: YOU’RE MAD BECAUSE I’M THE ONLY PERSON YOU EVER TALK TO, AND NOW YOU’RE MAD YOU CAN’T! YOU COULD REPLACE ME WITH ANYONE, COULDN’T YOU? I’M JUST THERE TO BE YOUR DESIGNATED ONLY FRIEND! AND NOW THAT I HAVE OTHER FRIENDS, YOU CAN’T DEAL WITH THEM TAKING MY TIME AWAY FROM YOU!”

Now Carl was past appeals. “I don’t need you,” he growled. “You want proof that I ain’t tryin’ to keep you on a leash? Fine. You walk out that door, I ain’t comin’ after you. I ain’t gonna bother you ever again. If this is really what you want…then I’m gonna support you, all right.”

Globby stared him down, trying to think up some response. Then, without warning, he surged toward the door as a current.

He’d learned how to transfer his body into water. Now, it became an instant reflex: little droplets formed around the area he designated his face. Only fitting that Obake’s teachings had just made him susceptible to crying all over again.

Carl slowly sat back down. Now he really couldn’t do anything about it. He knew it was the fault of this “Obake” for manipulating Globby, and even Globby’s fault for tossing his relationship with Carl aside for Obake. However, against all of that logic, he still felt, deep down, as though the true fault lay with him.

At first, Globby had convinced himself it would be easy to move on from Carl. After all, Momakase had just moved in, and that meant Obake’s faction was up to five, including himself. That was four whole new friends.

As the sushi chef prepared her bedroom, laying down deep blue sheets, Globby poked his head in through the door. “Hi!”

Momakase immediately recoiled from him. “Lovely,” she sneered. “Obake has literally hired toxic waste. And here I thought he had taste. His bar is so low, it’s insulting.”

“Yeah, well…you’re…” Globby was at a loss for words. Usually, when Carl riffed him, he was quick with a comeback, but this felt entirely different. “You set such a HIGH bar that I’M insulted!”

“Is there a point to this?” Momakase asked.

“Actually, yeah!” Globby eased the rest of himself into the room, his hands gripping a box. “So this new donut place opened up, and they do, like, gourmet orders where you can customize, and I know you’re super into food, so I got you a whole box!” He pried open the lid to reveal a rainbow of glazes. “So this one’s raspberry filling with chocolate icing, and this one’s chocolate filling with raspberry icing. See what I did? And that’s a cookies-and-cream donut, and this one’s actually more of a savory donut, with maple icing and bacon bits. This one isn’t actually a special flavor. I just liked the purple color of the icing, and the blue stripes made me think of you, so it’s like our friendship donut!”

“You thought to bring me plebeian food?” Momakase sniffed. “If you can even call it food. I wouldn’t touch it with a meter stick even if it weren’t contaminated by your offensive aroma.”

“Wait, I smell?” Globby flinched. “Nobody ever told me I smelled bad.”

“Well, then, nobody ever felt they could be honest with you, I suppose.”

“So…you…don’t want the donuts?”

“Whyever wouldn’t I want to ingest fried trash made by a minimum-wage apathetic?”

“Oh! Okay. I’m just gonna leave them on – “

“For goodness’ sake, learn about sarcasm,” Momakase groaned. “Take your cheap dessert and don’t bother me again, biohazard.”

Globby stared at her in dismay before retreating quietly, closing the box.

Once a good distance away from Momakase’s room, he muttered, “Maybe I was too forward? It’s not like she can hate me forever. We’re teammates!”

* * *

Once, passing Trina in the hallway, he heard the robot girl groan, “I AM SOOOOOO BOOOOOOORED.”

“I can help with that!” Globby volunteered, sliding up next to her. “You wanna maybe play a board game? I can go steal whatever. Or, if you don’t wanna wait, we can play twenty questions! Or…no, you’re too young for wed-bed-behead. And we don’t really know each other well enough yet for Truth or Truth. Or Dare. But – “

“Ugh,” Trina spat, “I don’t need any of your stupid boring old man games! I’m looking for some REAL fun, like a bot to mess with or another league to cheat! Who even plays twenty questions? Who uses CARDS?”

“Hey!” Globby argued. “I am NOT old.”

“Well, you certainly don’t ACT like you’re not.” She turned to storm away. “Forget it. I’m gonna go program myself to jam cell phone signals. You can go order the Early Bird Special or whatever.”

As he watched Trina storm off, Globby repeated, “I am not OLD! You’re just not good at having FUN!” He folded his arms in frustration. Then he sighed, “I shouldn’t be too hard on her. She’s just a kid! And let’s face it: my idea of fun is pretty boring. I just have to figure out how to actually connect with her over stuff she likes! She is kinda like my niece, after all. Or like a daughter! I like the sound of that. I’d love to have a daughter that was a total science whiz like her! And parents are embarrassing by definition, right? I bet in no time, we’ll have a whole familial dynamic going on! I mean, we’re teammates! What is a team if not your villain family?”

Somehow, he didn’t believe his own words.

* * *

“Howdy, mister!” Noodle Burger Boy said with a wave as he passed Globby in the hall.

“Oh, great,” Globby sighed. “For the last time, I DON’T want a sticker!”

“Can I interest you in waaaaaay too many pickles?”

“…Okay, that’s actually tempting, but NO.”

Then, on a whim, Globby retrived his phone. “Hey…can I show you something? I really wanted to share it.”

“What is it?” Noodle Burger Boy asked. “Is it mass destruction or how-to videos for making burgers?”

“BETTER,” Globby told him, opening up his photo gallery and turning it for Noodle Burger Boy to get a look. “Look at this selfie I got on the bridge last night! It’s the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen! And I was actually able to hang onto the top of the bridge without worrying that I was gonna fall off and die! The view is AMAZING up there. You should come up there sometime with me!”

Yes, Noodle Burger Boy annoyed Globby to no end, but Globby was starting to feel truly lonely. And people had considered him annoying many a time. Maybe he just needed to approach this in a new light.

“Wowee, mister!” Noodle Burger Boy cried. “You sure are boring!”

“BORING?”

“Super boring!” Noodle Burger Boy insisted. “Hahahahahahaha! That’s just a picture of your face and the sky!”

“Oh,” Globby said, crestfallen. “I guess it is.” A thought. “Did you see that viral video yet of the huge cat? Mochi, I think? It’s so cute – “

“Cat memes are overrated,” Noodle Burger Boy stated. “Kinda like you! Except you’re way more gross!”

“HEY!”

“Thanks for giving me a good laugh, mister!” Noodle Burger Boy said as he trotted off. “See you never, hopefully!”

Globby watched him go with dismay. “We’re teammates,” he said softly.

* * *

An attempted knock on the door to Obake’s sanctum turned into a wet slap. Peeling his hand away, Globby forged it into a metal hammer and tried again.

He succeeded in punching a hole right through the door. “Darn it!”

“What do you want, Globby?” Obake’s voice, already sounding tired, came through from the other side.

Globby pried the door open, sliding into the large, dark room where Obake’s monitors displayed everything he wanted to keep an eye on – everything related to this plan Globby still didn’t know about. “I, uh…well, let me start by asking: how are you?”

“In no mood to talk, but that’s obviously not going to dissuade you, so why don’t we get this over with?” He was turned toward the monitors, not bothering to even acknowledge Globby physically.

Globby took a deep breath – out of habit, counting as he inhaled and exhaled – and then said, “I just kinda wanted your advice. But if this is a bad time – “

“It’s never going to be a good time, Globby, so out with it.”

“So there’s this guy,” Globby babbled. “He and I were…pretty close. No, we were really close. But we had a really bad fight, and we haven’t talked to each other in forever. I keep wondering if I should go back and apologize, but I’m just not sure how to do that, since he doesn’t really approve of me…being part of a big villain plan.”

“Then why does he matter?”

“Well…it’s…okay, so it’s funny. You’re probably gonna laugh.” He was quivering again even thinking about putting it into words. “So I kinda think I…maybe…love him? All I can think about is how much I miss him, and how if he were here, he’d banter with me and go out for donuts with me, even if he wasn’t gonna eat any, and we’d just be able to talk about whatever, and I could really be honest with him, and he…he’d make me happy. Like he always used to.”

After a long silence that worried Globby, Obake actually did chuckle. “Love, is it?”

He turned to look at Globby, a bemused smile gracing his face. “Let me tell you about love,” he stated. “Love is unimportant and foolish. The only thing that comes remotely close to love is recognizing yourself in an intellectual equal.”

“He’s actually way, WAY smarter than me,” Globby said.

“Hmm…now, that I doubt,” Obake mused. “And that is saying something. Love, in the end, is worthless. Love brings you no tangible results, and tangible results are what matter in this world. Tell me, Globby, does this man you love find you useful?”

“No,” Globby muttered. “I’m kinda just a nuisance to him. I just get in trouble and he has to come bail me out.”

“I see. And do you find him useful?”

“I don’t really think about him like that,” Globby admitted.

“That’s a no, then,” Obake decided. “Globby, you and I have so very little in common, it’s truly staggering. Do you know what does unite us?”

“We both love being villains?”

“A charming label. No, Globby, it is that you and I are both fundamentally misunderstood by all who meet us. Those who knew me in my younger years seemed bound and determined to insist that I was wrong. That I was going to engineer my own self-destruction. As you can see, I am on the verge of quite the opposite. And then there’s you. Globby, the horrible monster. Globby, the clumsy thief with little potential. That’s how they all see you, isn’t it? This man is no different. Why would he be?”

“Because he never abandoned me,” Globby argued. “And he wasn’t afraid to touch me. And he didn’t even scream at me when he first saw what I was.”

“Strategic motions, Globby. Common courtesies. Nothing that hints at the truth. Without a proper scientific mind, no one can truly see you as anything more than a mistake. Tell me, have the others in the base treated you well?”

“No,” Globby admitted. “Momakase thinks I’m gross, and Trina thinks I’m old, and Noodle Burger Boy…well, he’s just rude.”

“They act that way because they can’t see your value,” Obake told him. “Remember what I said? You need to look beneath the surface to find it. I can see it. But they are as normal people are. And this man you supposedly love…he is only normal.” This in almost a laugh. “He’s only concerned with how you benefit him, and frankly, I’m certain he’s now glad to have you off his back so he no longer has to keep up the charade.”

“What charade? What do you think he wants from me?”

“Why, to play the hero, of course,” Obake said slyly. “What person is more publicly admired than he who extends a caring hand to the poor, disgusting, lowest of creatures? You’re merely a prop for his public image. No, I see you for what you truly are: something wonderful. Something fascinating. Something unstoppable.”

“But he knew me from before,” Globby said weakly. “And…I know he didn’t think I was disgusting.”

“Do you? Truly?”

Globby found himself coming up short now. “I…I guess I don’t have any evidence or anything.”

“Let him go,” Obake advised. “He is nowhere near our caliber. He isn’t what we are. He doesn’t deserve to cross the threshold into a new world of possibility and achievement. You, on the other hand, do. For you could thrive in the presence of the stars.”

“…Thanks,” Globby murmured. “I guess.”

He reached out, and Obake pulled back. “What have I said about hugging?” Obake snapped.

“Right,” Globby replied, though he had only really meant to lightly touch Obake’s upper arm. “Sorry.”

The tip of his hand had brushed Obake’s sleeve, and it had left a small glob. Obake regarded it with disgust before flicking it away. Suddenly, it occurred to Globby: was Obake’s resistance to touch really about his physical boundaries? Or did he just not want Globby to touch him?

“I’m just gonna…leave you with this stuff,” Globby said sheepishly as he flowed toward the door.

“Do try to keep your hopeless romanticism to yourself,” Obake said as he left, turning to face the monitors once more. “It’s unbecoming and entirely not pragmatic.”

After Globby closed the door behind him, he leaned back against the wall, thinking over Obake’s words. Somehow, though they had struck a primal part of him, they didn’t seem quite right.

“I know you didn’t think of me like that,” Globby muttered. “I know I wasn’t just a prop to you. And I know you thought I was your friend, for real. Nobody can lie to me about that.”

* * *

Carl was bound and determined to prove that his life didn’t revolve around Globby. He was an independent man, not a codependent one.

He brushed up his online dating profile. Went out to dinner with two people, once each. Didn’t pursue the relationship further in either case. Told himself it was because he simply didn’t feel the spark.

Knew it was because he was in love with someone else.

Once left the ice cream shop with a cone of maple butter pecan without having clear memories of why he’d wanted to.

But he was moving on. He was finding reasons to smile. Nice days, polite passerby, a motorcycle that glittered in the sun. Little by little, it got easier.

He spared a quarter one day to pull a newspaper from a stand, morbidly curious about the state of the world. The front-page spread was a detailing of the latest crime by one supervillainous Globby and how Big Hero 6 had attempted to thwart him.

Carl’s first reaction to being hit with this sight out of the blue was not, strangely enough, anger. Nor was it wistful sadness. Certainly elements of both emotions were mixed in, but they played second and third fiddle to the sense that washed throughout him as he scanned the article.

It was pride.

Pride in Globby, for having come so far. Carl would never not be afraid of how Obake was using him, and what he might be using him for. But now, Globby was making the front page. He was achieving his dream. He really was a supervillain, and if that was making him happy (judging from the smirk on his face in the action shot picked up, it was), then that was a fitting end to the story, indeed.

Maybe he’d just outgrown Carl. After all, now he was something Carl could never even hope to be.

Carl reverently folded the newspaper page up and put it in his pocket. Just something to remember him by.

Then continued about his business, remembering he had to get more food for the cat, who had become a picky eater lately.


	8. Aftermath

In the end, Obake’s plan turned out to be nothing less than the collapse of a dying star.

Globby realized his mistake almost too late. However, when the stakes were laid out, he saw more clearly. Obake meant to achieve his nirvana by destroying San Fransokyo and rebuilding it from the ground up, as a god might. Globby had no patience for playing God, especially when it meant the destruction of the things he loved most. No status, no amount of control was worth sacrificing the things on his list of what he valued in that town.

Granted, that list only had one entry. But one is better than none.

Thus had Globby renounced Obake entirely. Not without some regret (about leaving his new acquaintances rather than anything regarding the plan), but he knew where his priorities lay. He’d teamed up with Big Hero 6 to stop the star from imploding and taking out everything that had ever been important. It turned out Big Hero 6 wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. They were nice people, really, and maybe he’d just been looking in the wrong place for more friends, because as dissonantly moral as they all seemed next to him, they certainly seemed more accepting of him than Obake and his lot had. The tall girl, in particular, had stayed with Globby throughout the whole incident, acting as his moral support, using her own hands to assist him in keeping back the flood, unafraid to touch him, and fleetingly, he found himself thinking again of the fantasy of having an intelligent, successful daughter he could both embarrass and spoil. Not that he could count chickens before they were hatched.

Once the tides had been calmed and Obake lost to the waves, the news crews arrived like honeybees on a fresh patch of flowers. Interviews were demanded of everyone, Globby included.

“And what do you have to say about going from one of the city’s most feared supervillains to its biggest hero?” Bluff Dunder asked, putting a microphone out to Globby.

“Oh, I don’t know about biggest hero.” He was tinted pink with blush now. “I think Big Hero 6 is…well, actually, it’s right there in their name.”

“Is there anything you want to say to the general public following up your act of seemingly random heroism?” Bluff inquired. “For instance, a guarantee of no more relapses into villainy?”

Well, Globby could make no promises there. Definitely no more destroying cities, but he had some soul-searching to do on the topic of petty crime. And yet… “Actually, there is something I wanna say.”

“Please,” Bluff encouraged him. “Your adoring public awaits your official statement.”

Globby stepped a little closer to the microphone, then ripped it right out of Bluff’s hand, staring dead-on into the camera. “I’d like to apologize to my best friend in all the world, Felony Carl,” he said sincerely. “I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. I was just chasing after things that didn’t matter. And you were right. I was just being used. I should’ve trusted you, especially because you’ve never steered me wrong before. I thought it was all about how much of a burden I was to you, or if you felt superior to me, and basically just a lot of stuff about being useful or valuable. But all this has made me learn that you don’t have to be USEFUL to someone to be VALUABLE to them…and sometimes, people can think you’re useful without seeing any value in you. I just wanna go back to old times, and I hope you can forgive me for acting like a real jerk. I almost blew up the city, and what I did to you STILL feels like the most evil thing I ever did. As soon as I’m wrapped up here, I’m gonna come find you so we can talk for real. Because you’re valuable to me, no matter what.”

He passed the microphone back to Bluff. “That’s everything.”

“Awww,” Bluff commentated. “A heartwarming if out-of-context moment from our resident redemption arc. Where will the story go from here? Will this ‘Felony Carl’ forgive him, or will their relationship end in a bigger catastrophe than the one almost averted this very day? I highly doubt this network will cover the results. I’m Bluff Dunder, and there’s more coverage of the disaster to come.”

* * *

“…I’m gonna come find you so we can talk for real. Because you’re valuable to me, no matter what.”

Globby hadn’t even finished saying his piece and Carl, watching him from the television set he was now rather glad he’d never let his friend take, had already forgiven him. It all seemed too good to be true, after everything – but isn’t this what friends, true friends, did? Hurt each other, realized their wrong, forgave each other?

He was off the couch and halfway to the door before he even realized what he was doing.

Malva (short for “Malvavisco”) brushed against his ankle as he reached for the door. He took a few minutes to put the cat back on the couch, pointing at her and telling her, “Stay here. It’s dangerous outside.”

Malva replied with a curious “Mrrr?” She did, however, stay on the couch.

Carl rushed down the street, at first heading right for the bay but then realizing at the last moment he needed to make a detour. After all, he simply couldn’t turn up to this occasion empty-handed.

By the time he left the shop of his sidequest, the sun had already gone down, the city lighting up against the dark. Now to make his way back to the bay, hoping to cross Globby’s path, particularly hoping Globby hadn’t already passed him while he was busy stopping to pick up the very important purchase.

A shortcut led him down a quiet side street. When the two men stepped out in front of him, his first thought was that they were simple pedestrians who had happened to get in his way by accident. Before he could mutter for them to excuse him, they both pulled guns on him.

That got him to stop short.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, Castellano,” one of them growled.

“I fail to see what I’ve done to prompt this particular incident,” Carl replied back coolly. Under no circumstances could he let these men know that his heart was just about ready to beat out of his chest from terror.

No matter how many times he faced this sort of threat, it seemed, it could always get worse.

When the ringleader stepped out from around the corner, lumbering into view, Carl finally understood; “Oh. Now I get it.”

“Obake told me to stay away from you, Felony Carl,” Yama growled. “I know you took out one of my men that night! You know which night I’m talking about!”

Don’t show fear. Whatever you do, don’t show fear. “I’m not sayin’ I did or didn’t do anythin’. What I will say is that you had a very important person to me on the line.”

“I think I owe you,” Yama told him. “That’s two of my men you’ve shot now!”

“That’s two people I loved who you put a target on,” Carl rebutted. “We’re even.”

“Oh, no, we are not EVEN!” Yama spat. “You have two to my one!”

“You don’t get to talk about my mom like some statistic.”

“Your mother isn’t the important one! Your little boyfriend got away, and nobody’s seen him since! You got him out of town to get him away from me, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?”

“Again, I neither confirm nor deny anything,” Carl stated.

“He owes me a lot of money,” Yama reminded him. “And since he isn’t around, that means YOU owe me a lot of money, as well as a corpse. I’ve been sitting on my hands, waiting for Obake to give me the go-ahead once he got done with whatever he was scouting criminals for.”

Even though the newscast had basically confirmed that Obake had been collecting for this scheme, Carl still choked a bit on the information. And he’d just let Globby walk into it.

“But guess what, Carl?” Yama now grinned. “Obake bit the dust tonight! That means I don’t have to answer to him anymore! And it definitely means YOU’RE dead meat!”

So why hadn’t Yama had him shot already? Carl realized why: “My death means nothin’ to you without the money first.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing,” Yama replied. “I WANT my money first. If I HAVE to kill you first, then I will!”

There had to be a way to exploit this, to find a loophole. To delay. “I don’t got it on me. But I can get it, and you know it.”

“Then allow me and my friends to escort you back to wherever you’re keeping it,” Yama snarled.

“I’d rather walk alone,” Carl replied.

“Then how would I know you were going to get my money?”

“’Cause I know you’d be able to find me if I didn’t come through. Also, you try and send your minions with me, I’m gonna give ‘em a hard lesson about why they shouldn’t do that. A lesson you can’t shoot me over, knowin’ I might be comin’ back with what you want.”

“Oh, I think you’re the one who’s going to be learning the lesson,” Yama replied. “You won’t be able to muscle your way out of this one.”

“Two on one?” Carl observed. “I rather like those odds.”

Yama clapped twice.

How had so many of them been able to remain concealed? They slipped out from the shadows, the garbage receptacles, the upper floors of the fire escapes. One of them even slithered up from a sewer grate. In no time, Carl was surrounded by what must have been fifty of Yama’s enforcers.

“Now give him a taste of what’ll happen if he doesn’t come through!” Yama demanded.

They all rushed at once. Carl didn’t even have time to think about what to do with the wide, flat box in his hands. That box hit the ground, trampled in the scuffle.

He was pummeled, batted from man to man like a ball in sport. Fists and feet slammed into every part of him, and for once, he wasn’t even able to fight back. He did try. But for every man he knocked aside, another was ready to take advantage of the opening. When he saw the silver flash of a knife blade, he dodged, barely missing having his ear sliced off.

Yama gave a laugh at this. “You know,” he chuckled, “I’m almost tempted to just finish you off this way and not even worry about the money!”

Carl had been forced to his knees, still taking the abuse from all sides. His eyes now watered, and it was impossible not to show fear. When Yama relented – if Yama relented, he had no choice but to obey. He might just be able to get out of this alive if he followed instructions.

Then again, he actually didn’t have the payment Yama demanded. Nor did he have a plan for how to deny Yama the “corpse” owed after forking it over. But that was an agenda for later. Now, he just wanted them to stop, he needed them to stop –

Then, they stopped.

Because the roar of a literal Tyrannosaurus Rex had just sounded over the city.

“WHAT THE – “ Yama spun, paling as he beheld the newcomer who’d arrived.

It was a forty-foot-tall dinosaur. Which was twice as tall as an average T-Rex would be, but this person wasn’t one for holding back if he didn’t have to. Furthermore, the entire creature was an almost luminous bright purple, its eyes shining green points of light that stared down accusingly on Yama and all of his men.

“EXCUSE ME,” Globby said from on high. “NOBODY, AND I MEAN NOBODY, HURTS MY CARL.”

Carl beamed up at him, joy surging through him, and yet again, that awesome pride.

Without giving Yama a chance to argue or apologize, Globby spun, whacking the crime lord with his tail and sending him flying across the street. In an instant, all attention got turned off Carl and toward him. Bullets sailed through the air; they bounced off Globby as if hitting rubber, plinking melodically to the pavement below. The guns they came from were roped up with tentacles of slime that pulled them away from their owners.

Globby spat a large ball of goo on a cluster of the hitmen, and after it landed on them, it solidified into something like ice. With one kick from Globby, the sphere was sent rolling down the street, taking its prisoners with it. Still more men were falling to further lashes of purple that surged from his body like whips.

One of them stabbed him with a knife, to which Globby said, “Aw, you didn’t have to get me a present!” and sucked it up into himself, spitting it out onto the rooftop of the nearest building, where it couldn’t be reached.

At a certain point, Yama’s men realized it was a losing battle and retreated en masse. Yama, having finally righted himself and gotten his bearings, shook his fist at their retreating backs, yelling, “YOU COWARDS!”

The looming shadow fell over him. Yama turned to see Globby’s head at his level; his maw opened up to let out a deafening roar, flecks of purple flying out like saliva.

“Now, I’m going to be NICE and ask you once,” Globby snarled. “Are you going to do anything to hurt my friend ever again? Because if you do, you’re going to have a MONSTER problem on your hands. It’s me. I’m the monster.”

Yama lost all resolve, putting up his hands. “I’ll leave him alone!” he cried. “I’ll leave BOTH of you alone! Just don’t kill me!”

“Get outta here!” Globby commanded.

Yama wasted no time doing exactly that.

In a rubber-band snap, Globby shrank in size to his more humanoid shape, leaping into the air and swinging a fist. “WHEW!” he cried. “That was AWESOME! I am on FIRE with the hero stuff today! Two for two!”

He then realized the entire reason he’d done that in the first place. He turned back to where Carl was rising from the street, bruised and scraped yet looking more than content.

“Oh, that does NOT look good,” Globby said worriedly. “Are you okay? No, wait, that’s a dumb question. You’re obviously not – “

“I’ve never been better,” Carl replied. “I shoulda known I could count on my Globs.”

“So…uh…” Globby began nervously. “I kinda owe you an apology. So you were right about – “

“I saw on the news,” Carl cut him off. “You don’t need to say any more. It’s all good now. You’re forgiven. Not like it’s worth blaming anyone but Obake anyway. I guess I have my own share of apologizin’ to do – “

“No!” Globby replied, aghast. “You did NOTHING wrong! And you forgave me just like THAT, and…” He could no longer hold himself back. “Oh, come here!”

He surged forth as a liquid, expanding enough to completely surround Carl like a thick, sticky blanket, leaving only his head exposed so he could breathe. Globby placed his own head at such a position to lean against Carl’s shoulder, pressing cheek to cheek. Carl’s own arms became lost in Globby’s viscous mass, pulling as much of him close as he could get, and though he knew he shouldn’t make such value judgments, this, to him, was far, far better than getting an ordinary human hug.

“I missed you so much!” Globby insisted, his voice cracking.

“Didn’t do that great without you, either,” Carl replied.

“Hey…wait a minute!” Globby realized. “This time, I protected YOU!”

“You sure did,” Carl affirmed. “Proud of you, Globs. You’ve come a long way. Guess you don’t need me anymore.”

“Maybe not to TEACH me anything, but…I do need you! You’re my best friend, and I’m SO sorry I ever hurt you! Oh, and speaking of hurt, you have a LOT of bruises…”

“It’s fine. I’ve been hit like that before.”

“No, no, hang on, I can do something…”

Globby’s gels tinted a soft blue, and he became much, much cooler to the touch, which Carl had to admit was soothing against all of the places he’d been hit by Yama’s thugs.

“I’m like your own personal living ice pack!” Globby said cheerfully. “Just one of the many benefits you get from having a monster for a best friend.”

“Much appreciated, Globs.”

Now Globby spotted, over Carl’s shoulder, the discarded and stomped-on box. “Was that yours?”

“Yeah,” Carl admitted. “I was on my way over to the bay to meet you after the press left you alone, and I thought…well, doesn’t matter now, I guess.”

Globby peeled from him, snaking on over to the fallen box to pry it up. He recognized it immediately as the same box he’d tried to present to Momakase. “Carl…did you…get us donuts?”

“To celebrate your act of heroism,” Carl affirmed. “Also, more accurately, I got YOU donuts. You know you have a bigger sweet tooth than me. Guess it don’t matter now, though, since they got stomped.”

Globby pried up the box, looking at the colors of icing and filling that had been smashed across the pavement. “How long did it take you to pick all of these? There’s one of EVERYTHING in here! Chocolate, raspberry, blueberry…” He held up the remains of a pastry. “What’s this one?”

“That one’s regular donut flavor,” Carl told him. “I just got the purple icing ‘cause it reminded me of you.”

“Carl,” Globby told him, “I am warning you, I am already on the edge of my metaphysical heart exploding with happiness, and if this keeps going on, you are going to actually kill me.”

“Yeah, well – “

That was when Globby put the remains of the donut into his mouth.

“Don’t eat the street donut,” Carl chided.

“Whaaaat?” Globby asked around a full mouth. “It’s not like it’s any more toxic than what I’m MADE of!”

“…Okay, you make a fair point.”

“So, uh…” Globby looked back at Carl. “Did you need any of that on ice longer? ‘Cause I can – “

“It’s all good, Globs. Feels fine.”

“Okay. Good.” Globby nodded, then kept nodding, then put his hands together with a squish. “Soooooo. We need to talk about…things.”

“That would probably be helpful in terms of getting closure at least. You wanna go back to my place or – “

“No,” Globby interrupted. “If you don’t mind…there’s somewhere else I’d rather go tonight.”

* * *

Far below the cliffs, the waters of the bay surged up against the rock face, making a thunderous yet muted white noise. The surface of the water spread out into the dark of the night, blending with the sky in an ill-defined abyss.

“You’re right,” Carl said as he sat next to Globby on the cliffside, both pairs of legs dangling over the edge. “This really does put our infinitesimal nature in comparison to the rest of the world in perspective.”

“Right?”

“Also, the sound of the water is incredibly relaxing. I can see why you’d come here when you were stressed.” A thought occurred to Carl; “You stressed right now?”

“Yes? I mean no. I mean maybe?” Globby knew what had to be said, and already, he was feeling too nervous to say it. “There’s just a lot on my mind right now, and…well…there’s just something I think you should know. It’s important. And it’s probably going to change EVERYTHING and make both of our lives super weird, but after everything that happened, I just can’t have you not know it anymore.”

“I, frankly, am looking forward to what you could bring to the table that makes our lives weirder than the day you showed up on our street as a literal slime monster.”

“Heh…this juuuust might beat it.” Globby swallowed hard, which was really just a transfer of slime from one place to another. He flicked a glance toward Carl, then back out at the watery horizon. “So…let me start out by saying that it’s been a day.”

“Yeah,” Carl replied. “Really was.”

“So, I was pretty sure the whole ‘act as a barrier to stop the city from flooding’ thing was gonna work, but, you know, there was a…small…chance that I might not make it.”

“Thought about that while watchin’ the news coverage,” Carl admitted. “Gave me the chills for a minute. Real glad it didn’t happen.”

“Anywayyyyyy,” Globby went on, “there was…something I told the tall girl to say to you, in case I, well, you know. Though, then again, that might not actually have been in any way possible, since if I broke down, that means you would’ve…okay, let’s not think about that part, okay?”

“It ain’t nice to think about,” Carl agreed. “But I do think it goes to show what I always knew about you.”

“…That I was gonna die someday in a really overblown and dramatic way that was my own fault?”

Carl stifled a laugh. “No, Globs. You were willin’ to put your life out there for the city. When you saw somethin’ was goin’ wrong, you took a stand. You stood between us and total destruction. That’s a brave thing.” He reached over to rest a gentle hand on Globby’s shoulder, giving it a light squish. “But more than that, I know this might seem like a mixed message, since we make our living committing crime, but you’re a good person, Globby. One of the best I know.”

“But I’m NOT a good person!” Globby blurted. “I didn’t DO it to save the whole city! I mean, I did, and I thought the idea of it was TERRIBLE when I found out that’s what Obake wanted, but I was telling the kid in charge about how I didn’t wanna lose my friends here, and I tried listing them, and then I thought about listing my reasons for saving San Fransokyo IN GENERAL, and you were the only one, Carl!” He turned to look to his companion, who was now regarding him with interest. Gesturing wildly, Globby admitted, “YOU’RE MY WHOLE LIST, CARL!”

“…You had to at least have thought about the ice cream shop,” Carl suggested.

“I FORGOT ALL ABOUT THE ICE CREAM SHOP!” Globby went on. “JUST YOU! I thought about you dying in the explosion, and…I don’t ever, ever, EVER want to have to think about that again! It’s…it’s just…gah, why is this so hard to say? Sure, of course, when we met, me being gay just SLIPS OUT BY ACCIDENT and now I can’t even tell you the most important thing!”

“I have to admit I am very confused,” Carl told him.

“It’s…it’s you!” Globby sputtered. “You’re the entire reason I saved San Fransokyo! Because you DESERVE to live! No, wait, that’s a really low bar. You deserve way more than that. You deserve EVERYTHING, because you’re…I’m…the thing about you and me is…darn it…I just think…I think you…”

Carl’s brow shot up. “Globs…are you tryin’ to say you love me?”

“YES!” Globby cried. “THANK YOU! THAT IS EXACTLY IT! Because you’re always so nice to me, and you got me donuts because the purple made me think of you, and even when you’re mean to me, I know you’re just having fun, and you’re the smartest person I know about stuff like social issues and how to break into houses and how to suture laser wounds, and your hugs are literally the best thing ever, that is not an exaggeration, and you’ve always accepted me for who and what I am, and as long as I’ve known you, you’ve ALWAYS been proud of who and what you are, and I WISH I was like that, but it just makes you more BEAUTIFUL, and you really are. You’re beautiful. Your eyes and your arms and your nose – is it weird that I love your nose? – and more than anything else, I couldn’t let you die, because I LOVE YOU! THERE! IT’S OUT! I SAID IT!” He panted from the exertion of that declaration.

Then it sank in just how long he’d gone on. “Soooooo,” he said meekly, “that probably makes our friendship…super awkward now.” He turned his gaze away, out to the waters.

“Globs.” Carl gave his shoulder another squeeze. “Look at me.”

Globby very gingerly turned back to meet Carl’s gaze.

“Globby,” Carl told him, slowly and sincerely, “you have probably been the worst thief I’ve ever known. You will recall I met you when you locked yourself in the basement of the house you were attempting to burglarize.”

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Globby sighed.

“But there is one thing you were able to steal with incredible expertise, and you’ve held onto it for a very long time,” Carl went on. “That thing is my heart.”

“…What?”

“What I am saying,” Carl concluded, “is that I also love you, Globby.”

It took Globby a moment to realize what he’d just been told. Then, in a tone that completely betrayed how incredulous he found the concept, he asked, “WHY?”

“Because of how much attention you pay to every little thing in life,” Carl told him. “Because of how exuberant you are in your self-expression. Because you know how to liven up an awkward silence. You still care about gel pens. You make the best faces in selfies. You eat ice cream flavors that are completely not complementary at the same time. You yell ‘darn it’ at the most bizarre of catastrophes. I knew I could tell you about who I was and what I’d been through, and you’d listen. Basically, you make me smile a lot more than I would without you. As for the physical sense, I always thought you were beautiful back when you were human. But even though you’re a so-called monster now, that hasn’t changed. I admire the way you move so fluidly, the purple really is a gorgeous shade, and I could stare into your LED-enhanced eyes for hours.”

“This can’t be right,” Globby said in doubt. “You are WAY out of my league.”

“No…you were out of mine. Or so I thought. Didn’t really think I was your type. You had said you always went for the cool guys.”

“But you’re the coolest guy I know!” Globby protested. “So…wait. If you love me…and I love you…”

“Then it only logically follows we should legitimize a romantic relationship,” Carl decided.

“In other words…we’re dating.” Globby tested the words out again: “We’re dating. Ha! We’re dating!” He put up both arms to pump them victoriously. “YES! YES, YES, YES, YES, YES!”

“Now, see, that’s exactly what I fell in love with,” Carl said in admiration.

“So, uh…what even changes now?” Globby asked once he’d settled down.

“Not that much, really,” Carl admitted. “After all, love is an extension of friendship, and a true romance needs friendship as a foundation. Most happily married couples who’ve made it for the long haul would describe each other as close friends.”

“…Okay, so just to be clear, did you just propose to me, or – “

“It’s a bit soon for that.”

“I’m with ya,” Globby sighed. “But SOME things change, right? Like…anniversaries. I’m gonna remember this day so I can get you something AMAZING every year for our anniversary. And your birthday! I now need to go twice as hard on your birthday!”

“And I will, of course, reciprocate,” Carl promised. “Also, if you’re interested, you know my door’s always open to you.”

“I mean, I practically lived there already. The only thing really in my way is how Malva insists on pouncing on me every time I walk into the door.”

“I am going to make it very clear to her that that’s no way to treat her other father,” Carl said with full sincerity.

Suddenly, a look of shame and dismay crossed Globby’s face. “Sooooo…this might be a deal-breaker, but if we’re going to be living together, I should probably let you know that there are some things I can’t exactly give you right now…physically. I’d LOVE to, but even after everything, I’m still getting used to how this body works. I need time to figure out how to make it work…if it can work at all. So…if you were hoping for that, then, uh…sorry?”

When Carl began softly shuddering with laughter, Globby groaned, “Heyyyy! I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make fun of me!”

“No,” Carl told him with a beaming smile. “It ain’t that. It’s just…the thought that that’s the deal-breaker. It ain’t. I waited on this so long ‘cause I wanted to make sure this was, in fact, a love that transcended simple physical attraction. And also ‘cause I also thought it’d make things weird. But I don’t need any of that from you. I want your company and your open, honest communication. Anything else, well, I’ll take care of that by myself. Though on the subject, I had been hoping to be able to touch you in more chaste, non-invasive ways. Keep in mind you have every right to say no or set boundaries.”

“What are those other ways?” Globby asked.

“Well…” Carl looked down to where his hand hadn’t left Globby’s shoulder. “Like this. And also, I’d still like to be able to give you a hug whenever you need one.”

“Oh, believe me, I have NO problem there. Just so long as you know there’s still a tiny risk you might stick to me.”

“I ain’t gonna complain. It’s a literal bonding experience.” Carl then found he had to fight a little apprehension to make his next request: “But also, if I could just put my arm around you. I’d like to do that now, given your consent.”

“Oh, that, you can just do any old time!” Globby reassured him.

So Carl’s arm slid around his shoulders, pulling him in close, and Globby automatically leaned his head to rest on Carl’s shoulder. Upon doing that, he muttered, “No, wait, darn it, I didn’t ask – is this okay?”

“It’s perfect, Globs.”

They sat that way for a while, simply enjoying the comfort of each other, when Globby said, “It really does mean so much to me that you’re not afraid to get so close to me.”

“You know I always wanted the monster to get the guy. Guess I never considered how much I wanted to get the monster.” Carl then paused before saying softly, “There is one more thing I’d like to try out, but as I said, you have every right to say no.”

“What is it?”

“I…” Carl found it suddenly so seemingly forbidden to ask. It shouldn’t have been. After all, their dynamic had changed to allow for this. Yet he felt legitimate butterflies as he formed the request slowly: “I’d like to kiss you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“YES!” Globby yelled a little too loudly, head snapping upright. “I mean, uh, yeah, sure. No big deal. We’re dating. We kiss now. That’s a thing.”

Though it did put Globby’s mind into a race of worst-case scenarios. He was pretty sure that getting Carl’s mouth stuck on a hodgepodge of gooey chemical compounds was not the best way to kick off what was technically a first date. Then he realized there was a rather simple way around that.

They stared at each other, hesitant, for a while before Globby said, “You can…just go ahead. I’m good.”

“Okay,” Carl replied. “I’m…gonna do it.”

First, Carl brought up the hand of the arm not around Globby, cupping the other’s malleable cheek in his broad palm. Then he leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on Globby’s lips, or what passed for them.

It was an innocent kiss, one done with closed lips, and Globby knew that it hadn’t proceeded into tongue territory not because of any reticence to get contaminated but out of respect for his boundaries. (Memo to self, he thought: let him know he can kiss me as hard as he wants.) It was actually the first kiss Globby had ever known, and though he knew he wasn’t able to perceive it in as tactile of a way as others would, he still felt as though the entirety of his gel-flesh was fluttering with joy. He remembered, at the last minute, to kick in his safety net.

Carl didn’t think much of it at first when the texture of the substance that made up Globby’s mouth changed on his lips – becoming suddenly much cooler, a little smoother. When he pulled away, he realized that there was a residue left around his mouth from it; furthermore, the lower half of Globby’s face now looked a bit darker than the rest of him, even in the low light.

Curious, Carl wiped a finger over his upper lip, feeling a cold substance come away on his fingertip.

“It’s, uh…” Globby said nervously. “It’s chocolate peanut butter ice cream. I turned my mouth into it so you wouldn’t, you know, stick. And, yes, I know it can’t possibly be REAL peanut butter, but it’s something similar enough in taste and consistency that it might as well be.”

Strangely – or perhaps not so strangely – touched, Carl offered his finger back to Globby; “I’m guessing you want this back.”

“Oh, no,” Globby said as his mouth lightened back up to purple but the sides of his face now had a deeply visible blush. “It just regenerates. Believe me. I’ve lost enough of myself around this city that I’m surprised there’s anything left of me, but it comes back. I think it also has to do with how I can go from the dinosaur to this size and back? I don’t know, it’s weird and I’m still learning things. The point is, you could even eat that if you wanted, though I’m sure that’s way more disgusting than…you…”

The moment Globby had suggested it, Carl put his fingertip into his mouth, sucking the ice cream off in such a way that made Globby lose his train of thought. “You don’t taste half bad,” Carl told him mischievously.

“Well…uh…thanks.” Globby now realized he was fidgeting, twisting and mingling the slimes of his hands into each other. He stopped himself from saying that if (when) Carl did progress to using his tongue, Globby would probably be able to taste his mouth in his knees – though, then again, given their relationship at this point, he probably wouldn’t take that badly at all.

“Now that I think about it,” Carl said, “there’s somethin’ else you gotta know.”

“What?” Globby asked.

Carl looked him dead in the eye, and as the two of them exchanged bright, heartfelt smiles, he said, “You’re my whole list, too.”

~END~


End file.
